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HONEY-SWEET 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO 
SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



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Anne sat pale and wordless 




HONEY- SWEET 


BY 

EDNA TURPIN 

A n 


ILLUSTRATED BY 
ALICE BEARD 


Neto gorit 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

191 1 

All rights reserved 



Copyright, 1911, 

By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 


Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1911. 



Norioaotj 

J. S. Cushing Co. — Berwick & Smith. Co. 
Norwood, Mass., U.8.A. 


©C1.A2872-»7 






ANNE WOOLSTON ROLLER 


AND 


MARY ADAMS MITCHELL 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


Anne sat pale and wordless ” 

. Frontispiece 


FACING PAGE 

Anne and Honey-Sweet on Shipboard 

38 

Playing Paper Dolls .... 

68 / 

The Letter to Santa Claus . 

. . i6z{/ 

Peggy and Lois ..... 

. . 2721/ 

“ * Oh ! This is such a nice world ! * ** 

. 3141^ 


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I 


HONEY-SWEET 


CHAPTER I 

Anne and her unde were standing side 
by side on the deck of the steamship Ca- 
ronia due to sail in an hour. Both had 
their eyes fixed on the dock below. Anne 
was looking at everything with eager in- 
terest. Her uncle, with as intent a gaze, 
seemed watching for something that he did 
not see. Presently he laid his hand on 
Anne’s shoulder. 

“I’m going to walk about, Nancy pet,” 
he said. “There’s your chair and your 
rug. If you get tired, go to your state- 
room — where your bag is, you know.” 

“Yes, uncle.” Anne threw him a kiss as 
he strode away. 

She felt sure she could never tire of that 
busy, changing scene. It was like a mov- 

B I 


2 


HONEY-SWEET 


ing-picture show, where one group chased 
away another. Swift-footed stewards and 
stewardesses moved busily to and fro. In 
twos and threes and larger groups, people 
were saying good-bys, some laughing, some 
tearful. Messenger boys were delivering 
letters and parcels. Oncoming passengers 
were jostling one another. Porters with 
armfuls of bags and bundles were getting 
in and out of the way. Trunks and boxes 
were being lowered into the hold. Anne 
tried to find her own small trunk. There 
it was. No ! it was that — or was it the 
one below ? Dear me ! How many just- 
alike brown canvas trunks were there in 
the world ? And how many people ! These 
must be the people that on other days 
thronged the up-town streets. Broadway, 
she thought, must look lonesome to-day. 

Every minute increased the crowd and 
the confusion. 

: There came a tall, raw-boned man with 
two heavy travelling bags, following a stout 


HONEY-SWEET 


3 


woman dressed in rustling purple-red silk. 
She spoke in a shrill voice : “ Sure all my 
trunks are here ? The little black one ^ 
And the box ? And you got the extra 
steamer rug ? Ed-ward ! And I dis-tinct-ly 
told you — ” 

‘‘The very best possible. Positively the 
most satisfactory arrangements ever made 
for a party our size.’’ This a brisk little 
man with a smile-wrinkled face was saying 
to several women trotting behind him, each 
wearing blue or black serge, each lugging a 
suit-case. 

A porter was wheeling an invalid chair 
toward the gang-plank. By its side walked 
a gentlewoman whom fanciful little Anne 
likened to a partridge. In fact, with her 
bright eyes and quick movements, she was 
not unlike a plump, brown-coated bird. 

She fluttered toward the chair and said 
in a sweet, chirpy voice: “Comfortable, 
Emily ? Lean a little forward and let me 
put this pillow under your shoulders. There, 


4 


HONEY-SWEET 


dear ! That’s better, Pm sure. Just a 
little while longer. How nicely you are 
standing the journey !” 

A man in rough clothes stopped to ex- 
change parting words with a youth in paint- 
splotched overalls. 

— “Take it kind ye’re here to see me off. 
I been a saying to mesilf four year Pd get 
back to see the folks in the ould counthry. 
And here I am at last wid me trunk in me 
hand — ” holding out a bulging canvas bag. 
“Maybe so Pll bring more luggage back. 
There’s a tidy girl I used to know — ” 

Beyond this man, Anne’s roving eyes 
caught a glimpse of a familiar, gray-clad 
figure. She waved her hand eagerly but 
it attracted no greeting in return. Her 
uncle looked worried and nervous. Indeed, 
he started like a hunted wild creature, when 
a boy spoke suddenly to him. It was Roger, 
an office boy whom Anne had seen on the 
holiday occasions when she had met her 
uncle down-town. Roger held out a yellow 


HONEY-SWEET 


5 


envelope. Her unde snatched it, and — 
just then there came between him and Anne 
a group of hurrying passengers — a stout 
man in a light gray coat and a pink shirt, a 
stout woman in a dark silk travelling coat, 
and two stout, short-skirted girls with good- 
natured faces, round as full moons. The 
younger girl was dragging a doll carriage 
carelessly with one hand. The doll had 
fallen forward so that her frizzled yellow 
head bounced up and down on her fluffy 
blue skirts. 

‘‘Oh ! Poor dollie !” exclaimed Anne to 
herself. “I do wish uncle — ” she caught a 
fleeting glimpse of him beside the workman 
with the canvas bag — “if just he hadn’t 
hurried so. How could I forget Rosy 
Posy ? I wish that fat girl would let me 
hold her baby doll. She’s just dragging it 
along.” 

Presently the Stout family, as Anne 
called it to herself, came sauntering along 
the deck near her. She started forward, 


6 


HONEY-SWEET 


wishing to beg leave to set the fallen doll 
to rights, and then stopped short, too shy 
to speak to the strange girl. 

A lean, sour-faced man in black bumped 
against her. ‘‘What an awkward child!” 
he said crossly. 

Anne reddened and retreated to the rail- 
ing. Feeling all at once very small and 
lonely, she searched the dock for her uncle 
but he was nowhere to be seen. 

Then a bell rang. People hurried up the 
gang-plank. Last of all was a workman in 
blue overalls, with a soft hat jammed over 
his eyes. Orders were shouted. The gang- 
plank was drawn in. Then the Caronia 
wakened up, churned the brown water into 
foam, crept from the dock, picked her way 
among the river vessels, and sped on her 
ocean voyage. 


CHAPTER II 


It was eight o’clock and a crisp, clear 
morning. A stewardess was offering tea and 
toast to Mrs. Patterson, the frail little lady 
whom Anne had observed in a wheel-chair 
the afternoon before. Seen closely, her 
face had a pathetic prettiness. With the 
delicate color in her soft cheeks, she looked 
like a fading tea rose. Yet one knew at a 
glance that she and bird-like Miss Sarah 
Drayton were sisters. There was the same 
oval face — this hollowed and that plump ; 
the same soft brown hair — this wavy and 
that sleek ; the same wide-open hazel eyes 
— these soft and sombre, those bright as 
beads. 

‘Hf you drink a few spoonfuls, dear, you 
may feel more like eating,” Miss Drayton’s 
cheery voice was saying. ‘‘And do taste the 

7 


8 


HONEY-SWEET 


toast. If it’s as good as it looks, you’ll de- 
vour the last morsel.” 

Mrs. Patterson sipped the tea and nib- 
bled a piece of toast. ‘‘It lacks only one 
thing — an appetite,” she announced, smil- 
ing at her sister as she pushed aside the 
tray. “Did you hear that ? I thought I 
heard — is it a child crying ? ” 

The stewardess started. “ Gracious ! I 
forgot her ! A little girl’s just across from 
you, ma’am — an orphant, I guess. She’s 
travelling alone with her uncle. And he 
charged me express when he came on board 
to look after her. Of course I forgot. My 
hands are that full my head won’t hold it. 
It’s ‘Vaughan here’ and it’s ‘Vaughan 
there,’ regular as clockwork. Why ain’t he 
called on me again ? ” 

She trotted out and tapped on the door 
of the stateroom opposite. There was a 
brief silence. Vaughan was about to knock 
again when the door opened slowly. There 
stood a slim little girl struggling for self- 


HONEY-SWEET 


9 


control, but her fright and misery were too 
much for her, and in spite of herself tears 
trickled down her cheeks. 

‘‘She’s an ugly little lady,” thought 
Vaughan to herself. 

Vaughan was wrong. The child had a 
piquant face, full of charm, and her head 
and chin had the poise of a princess. She 
had fair straight hair, almond-shaped hazel 
eyes under pencilled brows, and a nose 
“tip-tilted like a flower.” Peggy Callahan, 
whose acquaintance you will make later, 
said she guessed it was because Anne’s nose 
was so cute and darling that her eyebrows 
and her eyes and her mouth all pointed at it. 
But now the little face was dismal and 
splotched with tears, the tawny hair was 
tousled, and the white frock and white hair- 
ribbons were crumpled. 

“Were you knocking at my door ?” Anne 
asked in a voice made steady with difficulty. 

“Yes, miss. I thought you might be sick. 
We heard you crying.” 


10 


HONEY-SWEET 


‘‘Oh!” The pale face reddened. “I 
didn’t know any one could hear. The walls 
of these rooms aren’t very thick, are they ? ” 

“No, miss.” In spite of herself, Vaughan 
smiled at the quaint dignity of the child. 
“Don’t you want me to change your frock ? 
Dear me ! I ought not to have forgot you 
last night 1 And breakfast ? You haven’t 
had breakfast, have you 

“No. Are you the — the — ” Anne drew 
her brows together, in an earnest search for 
a forgotten word. 

“I’m the stewardess, miss.” 

“Oh, yes 1 — the stewardess. Uncle said 
you’d take care of me. Where is he ? I 
want Uncle Carey.” 

“Have you seen him this morning, miss ? ” 
asked Vaughan. 

“ No. Not since a long time ago. Yes- 
terday just before the boat sailed. When 
Roger was handing him a piece of yellow 
paper. I waited on deck for him hours and 
hours. Where is he now ?” 


HONEY-SWEET 


II 


“ In his stateroom, maybe — or the smok- 
ing-room — or on deck. Maybe he’s wait- 
ing this minute for you to go to breakfast. 
We’ll have you ready in a jiify.” 

Anne’s face brightened. I can bathe my- 
self — almost. You may scrub the corners 
of my ears, if you please. And I can’t quite 
part my hair straight. Will you find Uncle 
Carey ? and see if he is ready for me ?” 

‘‘Oh, yes, miss. If you’ll tell me his 
name.” 

“Uncle Carey ? He’s Mr. Mayo. Mr. 
Carey Mayo of New York.” 

“Yes, miss. I’ll find him. Just you 
wait a minute. I forget your name, miss.” 

“Anne. Anne Lewis.” 

The good-natured stewardess bustled 
about in a vain effort to find Mr. Carey 
Mayo. He was not in his stateroom, nor in 
the saloon, nor in the smoking-room, nor on 
deck. In her perplexity, she addressed the 
captain whom she met at the dining-room 
door. 


12 


HONEY-SWEET 


‘‘Beg pardon, sir; I’m looking for a Mr. 
Mayo, sir, and I can’t find him anywheres.” 

“Well?” Captain Wards was gnawing 
the ends of his mustache. 

“It’s for his niece, sir, a little girl. She 
ain’t seen him since yesterday, sir. Been 
crying till she’s ’most sick.” 

“My word !” exclaimed Captain Wards. 
“I had forgotten there was a child. She’s 
not the only one that wants him. I’ve 
had a wireless from New York — the chief 
of police,” the captain explained to a 
gentleman at his elbow. “This Mayo is 
one of the bunch down in that Stuyvesant 
Trust Company. They’ve been examining 
the books, but his tracks were so cleverly 
covered that he was not even suspected at 
first. Yesterday they found out. But their 
bird had flown. He’s on our register all 
right, — self and niece, — but we can’t find 
him anywhere else.” 

They looked again and again in the tidy, 
empty little stateroom, as if it must give 


HONEY-SWEET 


13 


some sign, some dew to the missing man. 
There were his travelling bags strapped and 
piled where the porter had dumped them. 
The steward who had shown Mr. Mayo his 
stateroom remembered that he had come 
on board early, more than an hour before 
sailing time. Oh, yes, the man had taken 
good notice of Mr. Mayo. Could tell just 
how he looked. Slender youngish gentle- 
man. Good clothes, light gray, well put 
on. Clean shaven. Face not round, not 
long. Blue eyes — or gray — perhaps brown. 
Darkish hair — it might be some gray. 
Nothing remarkable about his nose. Nor 
his complexion — not fair — not dark. Any- 
way, the steward would know him easy, and 
was sure he wasn’t aboard. 

A deck steward said he had looked for 
Mr. Mayo not long before the vessel sailed. 
A boy had brought a telegram for him. But 
a first-cabin lady had called the steward to 
move her chair. 

The chap said he was Mr. Mayo’s office 


HONEY-SWEET 


14 

boy and could find him if he were on the 
Caronia. 

No one had seen Mr. Mayo after the 
boy brought this telegram. Evidently, some 
one had warned him that his guilt was dis- 
covered and he had hurried away to avoid 
arrest. Where was he now And what 
was to become of his little niece ? 


CHAPTER III 


During the search for her uncle, Anne 
awaited the stewardess’s return with grow- 
ing impatience and hunger. In that keen 
salt air it was no light matter to have gone 
dinnerless to bed and to be waiting at nine 
o’clock for breakfast. At last she heard 
approaching steps. She flung her door 
open, expecting to see her uncle or at least 
the stewardess. Instead, she stood face to 
face with a strange boy, a jolly, freckle-faced 
youngster of about thirteen. 

^‘Good-morning,” he said cheerily. Then 
he beat a tattoo on the opposite door. 

“Mother! Aunt Sarah! Aunt Sarah! 
Mother !” he called. “Must I wait and go 
to breakfast with you ? I am starving. 
Aren’t you ready? Please!” j 

Anne was still standing embarrassed in 


15 


i6 


HONEY-SWEET 


her doorway when the opposite door opened 
and facing her stood the bird-like lady whom 
she had seen the afternoon before. Miss 
Drayton kissed her nephew good-morning, 
straightened his necktie, and smoothed 
down a rebellious lock of curly dark hair. 
She smiled at the sober little girl across the 
passage as she announced to the impatient 
youngster that she was quite ready for 
breakfast and would go with him as soon as 
he had bade his mamma good-morning. As 
he disappeared in the stateroom, the stew- 
ardess came back, looking worried. 

‘‘I — I — can’t find your uncle, miss,” 
she said. 

Anne’s eyes filled with tears. She swal- 
lowed a sob and steadied her voice to say : 
‘‘He — must have forgotten — ’bout me. 
I — don’t have breakfast with him ’cept 
Sundays.” 

“The captain said I’d better show you the 
way to the dining-room, miss. A waiter 
will look after you.” 


HONEY-SWEET 


17 


The shy child shrank back. “I saw the 
dining-room yesterday,’’ she said. ‘‘There 
— there are such long tables and so many 
strange people. I — I don’t think I want 
any breakfast. Couldn’t you bring me a 
mug of milk and one piece of bread ?” 

Miss Drayton came forward with a cordial 
smile. “Come to breakfast with me, dear. 
My sister is not well enough to leave her 
stateroom this morning, so there will be a 
vacant seat beside me. I am Miss Drayton 
and this is my nephew, Patrick Patterson, 
who has such an appetite that it will make 
you hungry just to see him eat. After 
breakfast we’ll find your uncle and scold him 
about forgetting you. Or perhaps he didn’t 
forget. He may have wanted you to have 
a morning nap to put roses in those pale 
cheeks. Will you come with me?” 

“If you would just take charge of her, 
ma’am,” exclaimed the stewardess. 

Anne’s sober face had brightened while 
Miss Drayton was speaking. Indeed, 


i8 


HONEY-SWEET 


smiles came naturally in the presence of 
that cheery little lady. With a murmured 
‘‘Thank you,” the child slipped her hand in 
Miss Drayton’s and together they entered 
the dining-room. 

While breakfast was being served, Pat 
Patterson gave and obtained a good deal of 
information. He told Anne that he was from 
Washington, the finest city in the world. 
He learned that she called Virginia home, 
though she lived now in New York. Pat 
was going to spend a year in France with 
his mother and Aunt Sarah. Uncle Carey, 
with whom Anne was travelling, had told 
her nothing of his plans except that he and 
she were going “abroad” and were to “have 
a grand time” on “the Continent.” Pat’s 
father was to come over later for a few 
weeks ; he was down south now, helping 
build the “big ditch” — the Panama Canal. 
“Where is your father?” he asked Anne. 

“Dead.” 

“Oh !” with awkward sympathy. 


HONEY-SWEET 


19 


‘‘Long time ago, when I was little.” 

“Do you remember him 

“If I shut my eyes tight. It’s like he was 
walking to meet me, out of the big picture.” 

“And your mother — ” Pat hesitated. 

“I remember her real well. I was seven 
then. That was over a year ago. Some- 
times it seems such a little while since we 
were at home — and then it seems a long, 
long, long time.” 

“You’ve been living with your uncle 
since ?” asked Miss Drayton, gently. 

“Yes. Uncle Carey. Where is he ? I 
do want Uncle Carey so bad.” The child’s 
voice trembled. 

“Don’t worry, dear. We’ll find him,” 
said Miss Drayton, as they left the dining- 
room. 

The captain, who had kept his eyes on 
the little party, anticipated Miss Drayton’s 
questioning. Drawing her aside, he ex- 
plained the situation. “The scoundrel is 
probably safe in Canada by this time,” he 


20 


HONEY-SWEET 


ended. “He’ll take good care to lay low. 
This child’s other relatives will have to be 
hunted up and informed. I’ll send a wire- 
less to New York. The stewardess will 
take care of the little girl.” 

“Oh, as to that,” Miss Drayton an- 
swered, “it will be only a pleasure to me. 
She’s a dear, quaint little thing.” 

“That’s good of you,” said Captain 
Wards, heartily. “I was about to ask you 
— you’re so kind and have made friends 
with her, you see — to tell her that her 
uncle isn’t here.” 

“Oh !” — Miss Drayton shrank from that 
bearing of bad tidings. “How can I 
The captain looked uncomfortable. “It 
is a good deal to ask,” he admitted. “I 
suppose I — or the stewardess — ” 

“But no. Poor little one !” Miss Dray- 
ton took herself in hand as she thought of 
the shy, lonely child. “She must be told. 
And, as you say, I’ve made friends with her, 
so it may come less hard from me. Leave 


HONEY-SWEET 


21 


it to me, then, captain.” And she went 
slowly back to Anne whose face clouded at 
seeing her new friend alone. 

‘‘I thought Uncle Carey would come back 
with you,” she said. ‘‘Please — where, is 
he?” 

“Anne, when was the last time that you 
saw Uncle Carey ?” inquired Miss Drayton. 

“A little while before the steamer left 
New York,” answered Anne. “He said he 
was going to walk around. And he was 
down there on the — the platform below.” 

“The dock ? On shore, you mean, and 
not on the steamer ? ” 

“Yes, on the dock; that’s it. And 
Roger — Roger that stays in Uncle Carey’s 
office — gave him a letter — a yellow enve- 
lope. Then some people got in the way. 
And I haven’t seen him any more.” 

“Let’s you and I sit down in this quiet 
corner, Anne,” said Miss Drayton, “and 
I’ll tell you what I think. That yellow 
letter was a telegram. It was about busi- 


22 


HONEY-SWEET 


ness, and it made your uncle go away in a 
hurry. Such a great hurry that he didn’t 
have time to see you and tell you he was 
going.” 

‘‘Didn’t he come back ? Isn’t he on the 
steamer?” Anne asked anxiously. 

Miss Drayton shook her head. “I think 
not, dear. They’ve looked everywhere.” 

Tears were trickling down the child’s 
pale cheeks. “And he left me — all by 
myself ?” 

“No, dear; no, little one.” Miss Dray- 
ton drew the little figure into her lap. “He 
left you with good friends all around you. 
We’ll take such care of you — Captain 
Wards, that kind stewardess, and I. Isn’t it 
nice that you and I are next-door neighbors ? 
Bless your dear heart ! Of course it’s a dis- 
appointment. You miss your uncle. Snug- 
gle right down in my arms and have your 
cry out.” 

Anne winked back her tears. “It hurts 
— to cry,” she said rather unsteadily. “ But 


HONEY-SWEET 


23 


you see it’s — it’s lonesome. I wish Rosy 
Posy was here.” 

‘‘Is Rosy Posy one of your little friends 
at home ?” asked Miss Drayton, wishing to 
divert Anne’s thoughts. 

“Yes, Miss Drayton. She’s my best 
little friend. And so beautiful ! Such 
lovely long yellow curls. She sleeps with me 
every night. And I tell her all my secrets. 
I’ve had her since I was a little girl.” 

“Oh ! Rosy Posy’s your doll, is she ” 
questioned Miss Drayton. 

Anne nodded assent. “Uncle Carey gave 
her to me. I make some of her clothes. 
Louise makes the frilly ones. We were 
getting her school dresses ready. Uncle 
Carey said I really truly must go to school 
this year. Then yesterday he came home 
in such a hurry. Louise thought he was 
sick. He never comes home that time of 
day ; and his face was pale and his eyes 
shiny. He said he had to go away on busi- 
ness and was going to take me with him. 


24 


HONEY-SWEET 


Louise packed in such a hurry. And I left 
my dear Rosy Posy.” The child’s lip 
quivered. ‘‘Uncle kept saying, ‘ We ought 
to be gone. We ought to be gone. Hurry 
up. Hurry up.’ And we drove away real 
fast. Then we got out and got in another 
carriage. It was so hot, with all the cur- 
tains down ! I was glad when we came on 
the boat. But I do miss Rosy Posy so bad 
— and Uncle Carey.” 

Miss Drayton spoke quickly in her cheer- 
iest tone. “Aren’t you glad that Louise 
is there to take good care of Rosy Posy ? 
I expect she’ll have a beautiful lot of frilly 
frocks when you get home. Some time I 
must tell you about my pet doll. Lady Ann, 
and her yellow silk frock.” 

“I’d like to hear it now,” said Anne. 

“And I’d like to tell you,” smiled back 
Miss Drayton. “But I must leave Pat to 
play ring toss with you while I go to see 
about my sister. She isn’t well and I want 
to persuade her to take a cup of broth.” 


CHAPTER IV 

Miss Drayton explained her prolonged 
absence by relating to her sister the story 
of their little fellow- voyager. Mrs. Pat- 
terson’s languid air gave way to attention 
and interest. It was pitiful to think that 
so near them a deserted child had sobbed 
away the lonely hours of the long night. A 
faint smile came as the lady listened to the 
tale of Rosy Posy, Anne’s ^‘best little friend” 
with the ‘^such lovely long yellow curls.” 
Then her eyes grew misty again. 

‘‘Poor all-alone little one ! ” she exclaimed. 
“With no friend, not even a doll.” Then 
at a sudden thought her eyes sparkled. 
“Sarah,” she said, “I’ll make her a doll. 
And it shall be a darling. You remember 
the baby dolls I used to make for church 
bazaars 


25 


26 


HONEY-SWEET 


‘‘What beauties they were!’’ said her 
sister. “Like real babies, instead of just- 
alike dolls that come wholesale out of shops. 
I remember one I bought to send out West 
in a missionary box. You had given it the 
dearest crooked little smile. I wanted to 
keep it and cuddle it myself. But, Emily 
dear, it is too great an undertaking for you 
to make a doll now. You’ll overtax your 
strength. And, besides, you’ve no materials. 
We’ll buy a doll in Paris for this little girl.” 

“Paris I With all these lonesome days 
between!” objected Mrs. Patterson. “In- 
deed, it will not hurt me, Sarah. Why, I 
feel better already. And you’ll help me. 
If you’ll get out your work-basket. I’ll 
rummage in this trunk for what I need.” 

A muslin skirt was selected as material for 
the doll’s body and her underwear, and 
a dainty dressing-sacque was chosen to 
make her frock. Mrs. Patterson pencilled an 
outline on the cloth, then rubbed out, redrew, 
changed, and corrected the lines, with pains- 


HONEY-SWEET 


27 


taking care. At last she threw back her 
head and looked at her work through nar- 
rowed eyelids. 

‘‘She is going to be a very satisfactory 
baby,” she announced ; “just plump enough 
to cuddle comfortably.” 

“Surely you will stop now, dear, and 
finish another time,” urged Miss Drayton, 
after the pieces were cut out and sewed 
together with firm, short, even stitches. 
“You may not feel it, but I am sure you 
are tired — and how tired you will be when 
you do feel it !” 

“Indeed, no, Sarah,” said Mrs. Patterson. 
“This rests me. Fve not thought about 
myself for an hour. Why did you mention 
the tiresome subject ? That skirt must 
have another tuck, please. And it needs 
lace at the bottom. Just borrow some, dear, 
from any of my white things. Now I 
must have some sawdust.” 

The stewardess came to their help, and 
persuaded a steward to open a case of bot- 


28 


HONEY-SWEET 


ties and give her the sawdust in which they 
were packed. Mrs. Patterson received it 
with an exclamation of delight and held out 
a silver coin in return. But Vaughan put 
her hands behind her. 

“Please’m,” she said, ‘^it ain’t much. But 
I wanted to do something for that poor 
little orphant.” 

Mrs. Patterson smiled her thanks, then 
she pushed and shook and crammed the 
sawdust in place, taking a childlike eager 
interest in seeing the limp form grow shapely 
and firm. This done, she consented to take 
luncheon and a nap, after which Miss Dray- 
ton brought Anne to make her acquaint- 
ance. When Mrs. Patterson sent them 
out ‘Tor a whiff of fresh air,” she thrust 
into her sister’s hand a workbag with frilly 
white things to tuck and ruffle. Then she 
drew out her box of colors. Under her 
deft touches, now fast, now slow, the baby 
face grew life-like and lovable. 

“ She’s to be a comfort baby for a troubled 


HONEY-SWEET 


29 


little mother,” said Mrs. Patterson to her- 
self. ‘‘She must be one of the happy- 
looking babies that one always smiles at.” 

And she was. Her mouth curved up- 
ward in a smile that brought out a dear 
little dimple in the left cheek, and her big 
blue eyes crinkled at the corners with a 
smile climbing upward from the lips. There 
were two shell-like little ears and some soft 
shadowy locks of hair, peeping out from 
under a lace-edged cap with strings tied 
under the chin. 

When she was fitted out in the garments 
that Miss Drayton had fashioned, that lady 
exclaimed: “Why, Emily, Emily! You 
never painted a picture that was more 
beautiful. That darling smile I And the 
dimple 1 ” 

There was some debate as to when the 
doll should be presented and it was finally 
decided to give her as bed-time comfort. 
Promptly at eight o’clock, Mrs. Patterson 
insisted on undressing Anne, while Miss 


30 


HONEY-SWEET 


Drayton and Vaughan hovered outside the 
open door. Anne submitted rather un- 
willingly and took a long time to brush her 
teeth. Then she knelt down to say her 
prayers. After the 

“ Now I lay me down to sleep ’’ 

there followed silence. Indeed, she re- 
mained so long on her knees that Miss 
Drayton whispered to Mrs. Patterson a 
warning against standing and Vaughan 
moved to get a chair. The whisper brought 
Anne to her feet. 

‘‘I oughtn’t kept you waiting,” she said; 
and then she explained shamefacedly, ‘‘I 
wasn’t saying my prayers for good. I was 
just saying them over and over for lone- 
some. It’s — it’s such a big night in here 
all by myself.” 

Mrs. Patterson gave her a good-night 
kiss and turned the covers back for her 
to snuggle in bed. And there — wonder of 
wonders ! — there lay in the bed a white- 


HONEY-SWEET 


31 


robed figure — a dear, beautiful, smiling 
baby doll. Anne looked at it for one breath- 
less minute and then clasped it close. 

‘‘You precious! you lovely!” she ex- 
claimed. “Is — is she my own baby ?” 

“Yes, she’s yours,” Mrs. Patterson as- 
sured her. “She came to take the place 
of Rosy Posy who had to stay at home. 
She hasn’t ‘long yellow curls’ like Rosy 
Posy, but you see she’s young yet — only 
a baby in long dresses. I think maybe her 
hair will grow.” 

Hugging the baby doll tight in one arm, 
Anne threw the other around Mrs. Patter- 
son’s neck, and kissed her again and again. 

“You are so good. You are so good,” 
she said over and over. 

“What are you going to call your new 
baby ?” asked Miss Drayton. 

“I’d like to name her for you,” Anne 
said, looking at Mrs. Patterson. 5 

Mrs. Patterson smiled. “My name is 
Emily,” she said. 


32 


HONEY-SWEET 


‘‘Then that’s her name. Mrs. Emily 
Patterson. Only — ” there was a thought- 
ful pause — “that does sound sorter ’dic- 
alous for a baby in a long dress.” 

“Call her Emily Patterson,” suggested 
the doll’s namesake. 

But Anne shook her head. “That 
wouldn’t sound ’spectful,” she objected; 
“and Patterson is your ‘Mrs.’ name.” 
Then her face brightened. “Oh ! Her 
name can be Mrs. Emily Patterson, and 
Pll call her a pet name. I don’t like nick- 
names, but pet names are dear. She shall 
be what Aunt Charity used to call me — 
‘Honey-Sweet.’ I can sing it like she did : — 
“ ‘ Honey, honey ! Sweet, sweet, sweet ! 

Honey, honey ! Honey-Sweet ! ’ ” 

As Anne crooned the words over and over, 
her voice sank drowsily. When Miss Dray- 
ton went a few minutes later to turn out the 
light, Anne was fast asleep, smiling in her 
dreams at Honey-Sweet who lay smiling 
on the pillow beside her. 


CHAPTER 

The shipboard day passed, uneventful 
and pleasant. Anne had made for herself 
an explanation of her uncle’s absence, which 
no one had heart to correct. 

‘‘He’s nawful busy. Uncle Carey is,” 
she explained. “I reckon he stayed there 
talking to Roger — he always has so many 
things to tell Roger to do ! — and the boat 
was gone before he knew it. So he just 
had to wait. I ’spect he’ll come on one of 
those other boats. Wouldn’t it be funny 
if one of them would come splashing along 
right now and Uncle Carey would wave 
his hand at me and say ‘Hello, Nancy pet ! 
Here I am.’ ” 

Mrs. Patterson put a caressing hand on 
the child’s head but did not speak. Lying 
back in her steamer chair, she looked across 


33 


34 


HONEY-SWEET 


the gray-green water and thought and 
wondered. Presently Anne crumpled her 
steamer rug on the deck and nestled down 
in it. She chirped to Honey-Sweet and 
wiggled her finger at the smiling red mouth, 
playing she was a mother-bird bringing a 
fat worm to her nestling. Hour after hour, 
while Miss Drayton and Mrs. Patterson 
read or talked together, Anne would sit 
beside them, sometimes chattering and 
^making believe’ with Honey-Sweet, some- 
times prattling to her grown-up friends about 
her old home in Virginia or her life in New 
York. 

Mrs. Patterson petted her and made 
dainty frocks for Honey-Sweet. Brisk, 
practical Miss Drayton gave Anne spelling 
lessons and set her problems in number 
work, protesting that she was too large a girl 
to spend all her time playing and looking 
at fairy-tale books, blue, red, and green. 
Why, she did not even read them except 
by bits and snatches, but made up tales to 


HONEY-SWEET 


35 


fit the pictures, and told over and over the 
stories that were read to her. 

She was always ready to drop a book 
for a romp with Pat Patterson. Bounding 
about the deck together, they looked like a 
greyhound and a St. Bernard — she slim and 
alert, he with his rough hair tumbling over 
his merry, freckled face. Often their games 
ended by her stalking away with Honey- 
Sweet, in offended dignity. Pat was such 
a tease ! 

‘‘Isn’t that a pretty doll he said one 
day, with suspicious earnestness. “I say, 
lend her to me awhile, Anne.” 

Anne objected. 

“Oh, you Anne ! You wouldn’t be selfish, 
would you ?” wheedled Pat. “Didn’t I 
lend you my bow and arrows yesterday ? 
And I always give you half my macaroons. 
Just hand her over for a minute. Let me 
see the color of her eyes.” 

“You know they are blue — like the 
story-book princess, — ‘her eyes were as 


36 HONEY-SWEET 

bright and as blue as the sky above the 
summer sea, ’ ’’ quoted Anne, reluctantly 
letting him take her pet. 

“Blue they are. D’ye know, Anne, I 
think she’d make a capital William Tell’s 
'child. Don’t believe she’d be afraid for 
me to shoot the apple off her head. Let’s 
see.” 

Before xYnne could interfere, Pat had 
suspended Honey-Sweet to a hook out of 
her reach. A ball of string was fixed on her 
head by means of a wad of chewing-gum. 

Then Pat stepped back, drew his bow, 
and made a great show of aiming his arrow 
at the pretended apple. 

“How brave she is ! She does not wink 
an eyelid,” he said solemnly. “To think ! 
to think ! If me aim be not true. I’ll ki-ill 
me child,” he exclaimed, shaking with 
mock fear and dismay. 

“Oh, Pat, Pat, don’t!” implored Anne, 
grasping his arm. 

“Away, away !” said Pat, drawing back. 


HONEY-SWEET 


37 

‘‘Me heart failed but for a moment. Wil- 
liam Tell is himself once more. Behold!” 
And he took aim again. 

“Stop him I stop him! Don’t let him 
shoot Honey-Sweet ! ” cried Anne. 

Miss Drayton looked up quickly from 
her book. 

“Patrick Henry Patterson !” she said se- 
verely. “ Shame on you ! Stop teasing 
that child. Give her the doll this instant 
— this instant, sir!” 

Anne hugged her regained pet and 
walked away, carefully avoiding Pat’s mis- 
chievous eyes. A few minutes later, a bag 
of macaroons slipped over her shoulder, and 
a merry voice announced : “ William Tell 

gives this to his br-rave, beloved child.” 
And before Anne could speak, Pat was gone 
to join some other boys in a game of ring 
toss. 

With a forgiving smile at him, she saun- 
tered on and stood gazing over the railing 
at the motley crowd in the steerage. She 


38 


HONEY-SWEET 


was looking for the Irish mother with 
three curly-haired children. She wanted 
to share her macaroons with them. They 
always looked hungry, and it was really as 
much fun to throw them bonbons as to 
feed the greedy little squirrels in Central 
Park. The children were not in sight, 
however, and Anne loitered, leaning on 
the rail. She felt rather than saw some one 
watching her. Looking down, she met for 
a fleeting second the dark, intent eyes of 
a steerage passenger, a man in a coarse 
shirt and blue overalls. His face — as 
much of it as she could see under the 
broad soft hat pulled over the eyes — was 
covered with a dark scrubby beard. 

On a sudden impulse, Anne leaned for- 
ward and called in her clear little voice : 
‘‘Here, you man in blue overalls ! catch 

The man started violently, and the mac- 
aroons rolled on the deck. He leaned for- 
ward and seemed intent on picking up the 
fragments, but his hand shook so that it was 





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HONEY-SWEET 


39 


slow work. ‘‘Thank you, little lady,” he 
said after awhile, in a gruff voice. “I hope 
you have good friends.” 

Indeed, I have. Have you ?” 

Perhaps he did not hear her. At all 
events, he moved quickly away, without 
raising his head. Then Pat came, calling 
Anne. He wanted her to hear what a man 
was telling about the headlands that were 
beginning to take form on the horizon. 
Their voyage was almost over. In a few 
hours, they would reach Liverpool. 

^ The dock was entered at last and with 
as little delay as possible Mrs. Patterson’s 
party drove to the Roxton Hotel. No 
one noticed that the carriage was followed 
closely by a shabby cab. Unseen, its pas- 
senger — a man in blue overalls with a soft 
hat pulled over his eyes — watched the 
little party enter the hotel. Then he 
alighted, paid his fare, shouldered his can- 
vas travelling bag, and disappeared down 
a dingy street. 


CHAPTER VI 


‘^What news for Anne ?” wondered Miss 
Drayton as they drove to their hotel. Cap- 
tain Wards had sent a wireless message to 
the New York chief of police, asking that 
Anne’s relatives be informed of her where- 
abouts and that tidings of them be sent to 
Miss Drayton at the Roxton Hotel in 
Liverpool. Awaiting her, there were two 
cablegrams. Both were from the New 
York chief of police. One was in these 
words : “No trace Mayo. Will find and 
notify child’s other relatives.” The other 
cablegram read thus : “No trace any rela- 
tives of child. Letter will follow.” 

Miss Drayton handed the cablegrams to 
her sister resting in an easy chair before the 
sea-coal fire which chased^away the gloom of 
the foggy morning. 


40 


HONEY-SWEET 


41 


Mrs. Patterson read the messages 
thoughtfully. ‘^It is her disappointment 
that grieves me,” she said, looking at Anne 
who was sitting in a corner teaching Honey- 
Sweet a spelling lesson. “For myself, I 
should like to keep her always. A dear 
little daughter ! I’ve always wanted one.” 

“Ye-es,” said Miss Drayton, doubtfully, 
“but — we know so little about this child. 
Her uncle a felon ! Who knows what bad 
blood is in her veins ?” 

“That child ?” Mrs. Patterson laughed, 
glancing toward Anne. “Why, she carries 
her letters of credit in her face. Look at 
that earnest mouth, those honest eyes. I’d 
trust them anywhere.” 

“Oh, well !” Miss Drayton put the sub- 
ject aside. “Her people will turn up and 
claim her. There are lots of them, it seems. 
She’s always talking about Aunt This and 
Uncle That and Cousin the Other. Why, 
Emily ! You ought to have had your tonic 
a quarter of an hour ago. And a nap.” 


42 


HONEY-SWEET 


That evening the subject of Anne’s rel- 
atives was brought forward at the dinner 
table by the child herself. Seeing her eyes 
rove shyly around the room, Miss Drayton 
said, “You look as if you were watching for 
somebody or something. What is it, 
Anne ? ” 

“I was thinking,” replied the child, 
“maybe — there are so many people in 
this big room — maybe Uncle Carey is here 
and can’t find me.” 

The truth — as much of it as was nec- 
essary for her to know — might as well be 
told now and here. “Anne,” said Miss 
Drayton, “we telegraphed back. There is 
no news of your uncle. He — he missed 
the boat. We don’t know where to send a 
message to him. Try to be content to stay 
with us until some of your home people 
claim you.” 

“I don’t want to be selfish, Anne dear, 
but I’m not longing for any one to claim 
you,” said Mrs. Patterson, with a caressing 


HONEY-SWEET 


43 


smile. ‘‘I didn’t know how dreadfully I 
needed a little daughter till you came. I 
don’t want to give you up. How nice it 
will be some day to have a big daughter to 
take care of me ! ” 

Anne looked up with shining, affectionate 
eyes. ‘H’m most big now, you know, Mrs. 
Patterson,” she said. ‘H’m eight years old 
and going on nine. I love to be your girl, 
but — ” her lip quivered — do wish I 
knew where Uncle Carey was.” 

‘^Suppose, Anne, you write to some of 
your relatives,” suggested Miss Drayton, 
— any whose addresses you know. The 
Aunt Charity you speak of so often — 
where does she live ? Is she your mother’s 
sister or your father’s ? ” 

Anne’s laughter shook the teardrops from 
her lashes. ‘‘Why, Miss Drayton,” she re- 
plied, “ I thought you knew. Aunt Charity 
is black. She was my nurse. She and 
Uncle Richard — he’s her husband — lived 
with us from the time I can remember.” 


44 


HONEY-SWEET 


‘‘Oh!” said Miss Drayton. “But cous- 
ins ? Those people you talk about and call 
cousin — Marjorie and Patsy and Dorcas 
and Dick and Cornelius and the others — 
they are real cousins, aren’t they ? Do 
you know how near } First ? or second ? or 
third ?” 

Anne looked perplexed. “There are a lot 
of cousins. Yes, Miss Drayton, they’re 
real. I don’t know what kin any of 
them are. I call them ‘cousin’ because 
mother did. They lived near home — five 
or six or ten miles away. And they’d 
spend a day or week with us. And we’d 
go to see them.” 

“Oh I Virginia cousins!” Mrs. Patter- 
son laughed. “ Some time you and Pll go to 
see them and take Honey-Sweet, won’t we ? 
— Sarah, Sarah ! Let’s not make any more 
investigations. Wait, like our old friend, 
Mr. Micawber, for ‘something to turn up.’” 

The mails were watched with interest for 
the promised letter from the New York 


HONEY-SWEET 


45 


police, but day after day passed without 
bringing it. The American party lingered 
at the Liverpool hotel. Mrs. Patterson 
pleaded each day that she needed to rest a 
little longer before making the journey to 
Nantes. The doctor, called in to prescribe 
for her, looked grave and suggested that she 
consult a certain famous physician in Paris. 

Miss Drayton was so disturbed about 
her sister’s illness that she paid little at- 
tention to Pat and Anne. The children, 
left to their own devices, wandered about 
the streets in a way that would have been 
thought shocking had any one thought 
about the matter. 

Once when Anne was walking with Pat 
and again when she was driving with Mrs. 
Patterson and Miss Drayton, she caught a 
glimpse of the steerage passenger who had 
spoken to her on the dock, and felt that he 
was watching her. And then he spoke to 
her. It was one morning when she had 
gone out alone to buy some picture post- 


46 


HONEY-SWEET 


cards. She stopped to look in a shop win- 
dow, and when she turned, there at her 
elbow stood the man in blue overalls. 

“Wait a minute,” he said, in a strained, 
muffled voice, as she started to walk on. 
“Do you want news of your uncle ?” 

“Of course I do,” she answered in sur- 
prise. 

“I can give you news. Walk this after- 
noon to the bridge beyond the shop where 
you buy lollipops. Tell no one what I say. 
No one. If you do, some great harm will 
come to your uncle. Will you come } — 
alone ?” 

“If I can.” 

“If you do not, you may never hear of 
your uncle again. Never.” 

“Who are you Do you know Uncle 
Carey ? Tell me — ” 

“Not now. Not here,” he said hurriedly, 
glancing at the people coming and going 
on the street. “This afternoon. Will you 
come ?” 


HONEY-SWEET 


47 


‘‘Yes.” 

“Tell no one. Promise.” 

“I promise.” 

He hurried away, and Anne stood quite 
still, with a strange, bewildering fear at her 
heart. Then she turned — picture post- 
cards had lost all their charm — and went 
back to the hotel. 


CHAPTER VII 


That afternoon Pat went sight-seeing 
with a new-made friend, Darrell Connor, and 
his father. While Anne was hesitating to 
ask permission to go out, fearing to be 
refused or questioned, the matter was 
settled in the simplest possible way. Miss 
Drayton coaxed her sister to lie down on the 
couch in the pleasant sitting-room. 

will draw the curtains,” she said; 
‘‘perhaps if it be dark and quiet, you will 
fall asleep. Anne, you may sit in your 
bedroom or take your doll for a walk.” 

“ Honey-Sweet and her little mother look 
as if they needed fresh air,” said Mrs. 
Patterson, smiling faintly. 

Excited and vaguely troubled, but walk- 
ing straight with head erect, Anne went 
to the bridge. Against the railing leaned 

48 


HONEY-SWEET 


49 


a familiar figure in blue overalls and slouch 
hat. No one else was near. The man 
turned. 

‘‘Nancy pet — ” it was her uncle’s name 
for her and it was her uncle’s voice that 
spoke. “Those people are good to you ? 
They will take care of you till — while you 
are alone ? ’ ’ 

“Uncle Carey, Uncle Carey ! It is you !” 

“Yes, it is I. Don’t come nearer, dear. 
Stand by the railing with your doll. Don’t 
speak till those people pass. Now listen, 
little Anne. I am hiding from men who 
want to put me in prison. I can’t tell you 
about it. Some day you will know. Oh, 
Lord ! some day you must know all. Think 
of Uncle Carey sometimes, dear, and keep 
on loving him. Remember how we used to 
sit in the sleepy-hollow chair and tell fairy 
tales. My Nancy pet ! Poor little orphan 
baby ! It is hard to leave you alone 
— dependent — among strangers. Here ! 
This little package is for you. Lucky I 


50 


HONEY-SWEET 


forgot and left it in my pocket after I took 
it out of the safety deposit box. Every- 
thing else is gone. What will you do with 
it ? No, no ! you can’t carry it in your 
hand. Here!” He tore a strip from his 
handkerchief, knotted it around the little 
package, and tied it under her doll’s skirts. 
‘‘Be careful of it, dear. They’re not of 
great value, but they were your mother’s.” 

While he was speaking, Anne stood dazed. 
The world seemed upside down. Could 
that rough-bearded man in shabby clothes 
be handsome, fastidious Uncle Carey ? Ah 1 
there was the dear loving voice, there were 
the dear loving eyes. She threw her arms 
around her uncle and he pressed her close 
while she kissed him again and again. 

“Uncle Carey,” she cried, “I’ve wanted 
you so bad. But why do you look so — so 
different ? What makes all that hair on 
your face ? It — it isn’t pretty and it 
scratches my cheek.” She rubbed the red- 
dened skin with her forefinger. 


HONEY-SWEET 


SI 

‘‘You must not tell any one that you have 
seen me. Not any one. Do you under- 
stand ?” her uncle spoke hurriedly. “If 
people find out that I am here, they will 
hunt me up and put me in prison.” 

“Not Mrs. Patterson, uncle, nor Pat, 
nor Miss Drayton. They are too good. 
Mayn’t I tell them ?” 

,“No, no!” 

“Uncle ! they wouldn’t hurt you. And 
it’s such hard work to keep a secret.” 

“Ah, poor child ! And it may be a long, 
long time,” considered Mr. Mayo. Then 
he asked suddenly, “Where are you going 
from here ^ Do you know these ladies’ 
plans ? ” 

“To spend the winter in France. The 
name of the place is like mine. Nan — Nan 
— No I not Nancy.” 

“Nantes ?” 

“Yes, unc]^. Nantes. That’s it.” 

“When you get to Nantes, then, you may 
tell your friends about seeing me.” 


52 


HONEY-SWEET 


Through the fog a policeman loomed in 
view, coming leisurely down the quiet 
street. 

must go,” Mr. Mayo said hurriedly. 
‘‘Good-by, Nancy pet.” 

Anne caught his hand in both of hers. 
“Oh, uncle!” she cried. “Don’t go. I 
want you. I want to go with you.” 

“Dear little one ! What a fool I was 1 
oh, what a fool 1 Good-by 1 ” 

He kissed her and was gone. Anne stood 
motionless, silent, looking after him as he 
hurried down a by-street. 

“Did ’ee beg off you, my little leddy ? ” 
asked the friendly policeman, as he came up. 
“ ’As that dirty fellow frighted you ?” 

“Oh, no. He didn’t beg. I am not 
frightened,” Anne answered quickly. “I’m 
going home now.” 

“If so be folks worrit you on the streets, 
a’lays holler for a cop,” said the guardian 
of the peace. “We’ll take care of you. 
That’s what we’re here for. And I’ve 


HONEY-SWEET 


53 


chillen of me own and al’ays look out 
particular for the little ones.” 

“Thank you, thank you ! Good-by.” 

Anne’s disturbed looks would have ex- 
cited comment, had her friends not been 
occupied with troubles of their own. The 
doctor in his visit that afternoon had urged 
Miss Drayton to go to Paris as soon as 
possible and put Mrs. Patterson under 
charge of the physician whom he had be- 
fore recommended. 

“If any one can help her, he is the man,” 
said Dr. Foster. 

“ ‘If !’ Is it so serious ?” faltered Miss 
Drayton. 

The doctor hesitated. Then he said : 
“We must hope for the best. Your sister 
may get on nicely.” 

“Is her throat worse?” asked Miss 
Drayton. 

“I — er -r — I prefer to have you con- 
sult Dr. La Farge,” replied the doctor. 

It was resolved, then, to go to Paris at 


54 


HONEY-SWEET 


once. While Miss Drayton was packing, 
the American mail came in, and brought a 
letter from New York police headquarters. 
The officer, whose interest in the case had led 
him to push his inquiries as far as possible, 
wrote at length. In the investigation of 
the Stuyvesant Trust Company, accused of 
violating the Anti-Trust Law, certain busi- 
ness papers had been secured which proved 
that Mr. Carey Mayo had taken trust funds, 
speculated in cotton futures, lost heavily 
during a panic, and covered his misuse of 
the company’s funds by falsifying his ac- 
counts. Evidently it had been a mere 
speculation not a deliberate theft. Mr. 
Mayo had been refunding larger or smaller 
sums month by month for a year. Had 
it not been for this investigation of the 
company’s affairs, he might and probably 
would have replaced the whole amount and 
his guilt would never have been known. 
When the investigation began, he made 
hasty plans to escape to Europe with his 


HONEY-SWEET 


55 


niece. Being informed that he was about 
to be arrested, he left the child on the 
steamer, as we know, and escaped — to 
Canada, the police thought. 

A number of his acquaintances in the 
city had been interviewed. They had 
known Mr. Mayo for years, but only in the 
way of business and knew nothing of his 
family ; one or two had heard him mention 
a sister and a niece. 

The servants in his Cathedral Parkway 
apartment had been found and questioned. 
The cook had been with Mr. Mayo two 
years. He was ‘^an easy-going gentleman, 
good pay, and no interferer. ” The year 
before, she said, he had gone to Virginia, 
summoned by a telegram announcing his 
sister’s death, and had brought back his 
orphan niece, Anne Lewis. The cook had 
never seen nor heard of any other member 
of his family. 

The police officer suggested that the child 
should be put in an institution for the care 


HONEY-SWEET 


56 

of destitute children. He gave information 
as to the steps necessary in such a case 
and professed his willingness to give any 
further help desired. 

Miss Drayton and Mrs. Patterson read 
and reread the letter. 

‘‘Well ?” asked Miss Drayton. 

“We’ll not send her to an asylum, you 
know,” said Mrs. Patterson, decidedly. 
“Unless her own people claim her, we will 
keep her. Anne shall be my little 
daughter.” 

So it was settled, and the family party 
went on to Paris. The great physician 
made a careful examination of Mrs. Pat- 
terson. He, too, was unwilling to express 
an opinion about her condition. He would 
prefer, he said, to have madame under 
treatment awhile at his private hospital, a 
quiet place in the suburbs. 

It was promptly decided to accept Dr. 
La Farge’s suggestion. Mrs. Patterson’s 
health being the object of their journey. 


HONEY-SWEET 


57 


there was no reason why they should winter 
in Nantes if in Paris she could secure more 
helpful treatment. It was resolved, there- 
fore, to send Pat and Anne to boarding- 
schools while Mrs. Patterson and Miss 
Drayton put themselves under the doctor’s 
orders. 

‘‘Oh ! Aren’t we going to Nantes ?” 
asked Anne, when Miss Drayton informed 
her of the changed plans. 

“No, Anne. I’ve just told you, we are all 
going to stay in or near Paris.” 

“Not going there at all ever.^” the 
child persisted. 

“I don’t know; probably not.” Miss 
Drayton was worried and this made her 
tone crisp and impatient. 

“O — oh !” wailed Anne, her self-control 
giving way before the sudden disappoint- 
ment. “I want to go. I want to go to 
Nantes.” 

Miss Drayton was amazed. What ailed 
the child I Why this passionate desire 


HONEY-SWEET 


S8 

to go to Nantes, a city of which, as she 
owned, she had never even heard until she 
was told that it was their destination ? 

“Anne, Anne! For pity’s sake!” said 
Miss Drayton. “Why are you so anxious 
to go to Nantes ?” 

But Anne only rocked back and forth, 
sobbing, “I want to go to Nantes ! I want 
to go to Nantes ! ” 

She had been counting the days till, 
according to her uncle’s permission, she 
might tell her friends about seeing him. 
She felt sure they would explain the puzzling 
change in his appearance, and tell when she 
would see him again. Now, after all, they 
were not going to Nantes, and she must 
keep her secret alone, forever and forever. 
It was too dreadful ! 


CHAPTER VIII 


Pat was sent to a boarding-school near 
Paris, and it was decided that Anne should 
attend St. Cecilia’s School, a select insti- 
tution where American girls continued their 
studies in English and had lessons in French 
and music. Mrs. Patterson herself went 
to enter Anne as a pupil. 

St. Cecilia’s School faced a little park 
on a quiet street. It was a red-brick build- 
ing, with balconies set in recesses between 
white stuccoed pillars. Everything about 
the place was formal and dignified. The 
lower floor was occupied by parlors, offices, 
class-rooms, and dining-rooms. Through 
wide-open doors at the end of the hall, Mrs. 
Patterson and Anne had a pleasant view of 
the long piazza at the back of the house. It 
opened on a grass-plot edged with flower- 
59 


6o 


HONEY-SWEET 


beds. ' The neat gravel paths ended in short 
flights of steps, under rose-covered arch- 
ways, that led down a terrace to the play- 
ground. 

While they waited in a handsome, formal 
parlor for Mademoiselle Duroc, Mrs. Pat- 
terson chatted pleasantly to Anne about the 
swings and arbors and pear-trees on the 
playground. But Anne sat silent, with a 
lump in her throat, and clutched her friend’s 
hand tighter and tighter, while she watched 
for the principal’s entrance as she would 
have watched for an ogre in whose den she 
had been trapped. At last — it was really 
in a very few minutes — Mademoiselle 
Duroc entered the room. While she talked 
with Mrs. Patterson, Anne regarded her 
with awe. 

Like her surroundings, Mademoiselle was 
formal and handsome. She was of middle 
height, but she carried herself with such 
stately grace that she impressed Anne as 
being very tall. Her glossy hair, of which 


HONEY-SWEET 


6i 


no one ever saw a strand out of place, was 
arranged in elaborate waves and coils sup- 
ported by a tall shell comb. She wore a 
very long, very stiff black silk gown 
trimmed with beads and lace, and she had 
a purple silk shawl around her shoulders. 
When she moved, her skirts rustled in a 
stately fashion and sent forth a stately odor 
of sandalwood. 

‘‘I shall have to do whatever she tells 
me,” Anne knew at once. “If she tells 
me to walk in the fire, I shall have to go.” 

That was the impression Mademoiselle 
Duroc always made on people. She was a 
born general, and if she had been a man and 
had lived a century earlier, she would have 
been one of the great Napoleon’s marshals 
and led a freezing, starving little band to 
impossible victories ; — so Miss Morris said. 
Miss Morris, a stout, middle-aged. New 
England lady, was Mademoiselle’s assistant. 
She had a kind heart, but the girls thought 
her cross because she was always making 


62 


HONEY-SWEET 


a worried effort to secure the order and at- 
tention which came of themselves as soon 
as Mademoiselle entered the study-hall. 
When Miss Morris scolded — which was 
often, as Anne was to learn — her face grew 
very red and her voice very rough, and she 
flapped her arms in a peculiar way. Anne 
did not like to be scolded but she liked to 
watch Miss Morris, when she was angry; 
it was strange and interesting to see a per- 
son look so much like a turkey-cock. 

Anne usually watched people very closely 
with her bright, soft, hazel eyes. Now, 
however, she was too frightened and miser- 
able to raise her eyes above Mademoiselle’s 
satin slippers, even to look at Miss Morris 
who came in to take charge of the new 
pupil. 

‘‘This is my borrowed daughter, for the 
winter at least,” Mrs. Patterson explained, 
with her arm around the shy, excited child. 
“You will find her studious and you will 
find her obedient. I shall expect you to 


HONEY-SWEET 63 

give her back to me next summer a very 
learned young lady.” 

Anne clung to Mrs. Patterson’s hand 
like a drowning man to a raft. Don’t 
leave me,” she whispered imploringly. 
^‘Please take me back with you. Oh, 
please ! ” 

“Dearie, I wish I could,” her friend an- 
swered with a caress. “But I can’t. My 
little girl must stay here now — and study 
— and be good.” 

Anne watched the carriage start oif, 
feeling that it must, must, must turn and 
come back to get her. But it rolled out of 
sight under the archway of trees. Then 
Miss Morris took her by the hand and led 
her into a small office. She read a long 
list of things that Anne must do and a 
still longer list of things that she must not 
do. She called on Anne to read in two or 
three little books, and questioned her about 
arithmetic and history and geography. 

Finally she escorted the new pupil to the 


64 


HONEY-SWEET 


dormitory. It was a large, spotless apart- 
ment which Anne was to share with five 
other American girls, some older, some 
younger, than herself. Each girl had her 
own little white bed, her own little white 
dressing-table and washstand, her own 
little white box with chintz-cushioned top, 
in which to keep her private belongings. 
Miss Morris called Louise, one of the maids, 
to unpack Anne’s trunk. As the articles 
were put in her box and drawers and on 
her shelves and hooks in the dormitory 
closet, Miss Morris said: “Now remem- 
ber where your shoes are, and keep them 
there.” 

“Do not forget to put your aprons always 
in that corner of the third shelf.” 

“The left-hand drawer of the dressing- 
table is for your handkerchiefs, and the 
right-hand drawer is for your hair-rib- 
bons.” 

Anne sat by, with Honey-Sweet clasped 
in her arms, and meekly answered, “Yes, 


HONEY-SWEET 65 

Miss Morris,” or ‘‘ No, Miss Morris,” as the 
occasion demanded. 

It was luncheon-time when the unpack- 
ing was finished and in the dining-room 
Anne met her five room-mates. Fat, freckle- 
faced, stupid Amelia Harvey and clever, 
idle Madge Allison were cousins in charge of 
Madge’s older sister who was studying art. 
Annette and Bebe Girard were pretty, dark- 
eyed chatterboxes whose father was consul 
at Havre. Fair, chubby, even-tempered 
Elsie Hart was the daughter of a clergyman 
who was travelling in the Holy Land. 

Anne, who had never in her life had to do 
a certain thing at a certain time, did not 
find it easy to adjust her habits to the rou- 
tine of school life. Her morning toilette 
was especially troublesome. She tumbled 
out of bed a little behind time at Louise’s 
summons and during each operation of the 
dressing period she fell a little farther be- 
hind. In vain Louise reproved and hur- 
ried her. 


66 


HONEY-SWEET 


‘ One Wednesday morning, Anne was es- 
pecially provoking. Not that she meant 
to be. It just happened so. She dawdled 
over her bath, and when Louise tried to 
hurry her, she stopped quite still to argue 
the matter. 

‘‘You want me to be clean, don’t you 
she asked. 

“But yes ! Not to the scrub-off of the 
skin,” protested Louise. 

Anne continued to rub her ears. “It’s a 
— a ’sponsibility to wash my own corners. 
And Mrs. Patterson says it’s a disgrace to 
be dingy,” she explained. 

Then she sat down on the floor and pro- 
ceeded to put on her stockings, — that is, 
she meant to put them on, but she became 
so absorbed in trying to spell her name 
backwards that she forgot about the stock- 
ings. Louise caught her by the shoulder. 

“You will dress instant, Mees Anne,” she 
threatened, “or I report you to Mademoi- 
selle.” 


HONEY-SWEET 


67 


Anne had heard that threat too often to 
be disturbed by it. She went to get a fresh 
apron, then, seeing that Honey-Sweet’s frock 
was soiled, she selected a fresh frock for her 
doll whom she reproved severely for being 
so untidy and so slow about dressing. 
Louise, who was wrestling with Annette’s 
curls, turned and saw Anne devoting her- 
self to her doll’s toilette when she ought to 
have been finishing her own. The much- 
tried maid snatched away Honey-Sweet 
and shook her heartily. 

‘‘Don’t, don’t, Louise!” cried Anne. 
“Don’t you hurt Honey-Sweet. I’ll dress. 
I’ll hurry. I’ll be quick.” 

Louise looked keenly at Anne’s flushed, 
earnest face. Then she gave poor Honey- 
Sweet a smart little smack. “The wicked 
behe!^^ she exclaimed. “She does not per- 
mit that you make the toilette. If you are 
not dressed in six minutes exact, I give the 
spank once more to the bad bebe 

Anne’s fingers hurried as she had not 


68 


HONEY-SWEET 


known they could hurry and in exactly four 
minutes she presented herself for Louise to 
tie her hair-ribbons, while she cuddled and 
pitied her rescued baby. 

^‘Oh, ho ! Mees Anne,” said Louise, her 
eyes sparkling with satisfaction at having 
found a way to enforce promptness. “ Each 
morning that is tardy, I give the spank to 
the wicked bebe that makes you to delay.” 

To save Honey-Sweet from punishment, 
Anne sprang up the next morning at Louise’s 
first call and dressed at once. To her sur- 
prise, she found that it was really pleasanter 
than dawdling over her toilette, and Louise 
good-naturedly gave her permission to take 
Honey-Sweet for a before-breakfast stroll 
to the arbor in the playground. 

From the first, Anne got on well in her 
classes. She did not like to study lessons 
in books — she was always getting tangled 
up in long sentences or stumbling over big 
words — but where she once, in spite of the 
printed page, understood a subject, she made 



Playing paper dolls 




HONEY-SWEET 69 

it her own. The scenes and events de- 
scribed in her history, geography, and read- 
ing lessons were vivid to her mind’s eye and 
she pictured them vividly to others. Her 
classmates soon found that they could learn 
a lesson in half the time and with half the 
effort by studying it with Anne. 

‘H speak to study the hist’ry with Anne 
to-day,” Amelia would say. 

‘‘Anne, if you’ll go over the g’og’aphy les- 
son with me. I’ll work your ’zamples for 
you,” Madge would promise. 

The girls found, too, that Anne could tell 
the most delightful stories. And she was 
always inventing charming new ways to 
play. Instead of keeping her paper dolls 
limp and loose, like the other girls, she 
pasted them on stiff cardboard, pulled them 
about with threads, and had a moving- 
picture show to illustrate a story that she 
made up. The admission price was five 
pins, those not too badly bent being 
accepted. 


CHAPTER IX 


Through all these days and weeks, Anne 
and Honey-Sweet were bearing about the 
secret which her uncle had intrusted to her. 
Sometimes it perplexed her and weighed 
heavy on her mind. Sometimes she forgot 
all about it for days together. Then with a 
start there would come, like a black figure 
stalking between her and the sunlight, the 
thought of her uncle’s strange appearance, 
of the danger which he said was hanging over 
him if she told that she had seen him — 
told anywhere except at Nantes. 

One night she dreamed that she told the 
secret. And the words were hardly off her 
lips before she saw her uncle pursued by 
a crowd, ragged, loud-voiced, wild-eyed 
people, like those she and Annette had seen 
that day when, falling behind their school- 


70 


HONEY-SWEET 


71 


mates out walking, they had taken a hur- 
ried short-cut and had run frightened along 
a dingy street. Anne dreamed that she saw 
her uncle running — running — running — 
allhost spent — mouth open — panting 
breath. A moment more and the out- 
stretched hands would catch him. They 
were not hands, they were sharp, cruel claws 
about to seize him. She wakened herself 
with a scream. 

‘‘No, no, no ! ” she sobbed, “I will never, 
never, never tell ! ” 

The little package was still hidden where 
Mr. Mayo had put it. Once or twice when 
she was alone Anne had opened it, but she 
always felt as if some one was looking at her 
and about to question her, and she put it 
hastily away. There were three rings, — one 
a plain heavy band of yellow gold, one set 
with a blazing red stone, one with a cluster 
of sparkling white gems. There was a bead 
purse with a gold piece and a few silver coins 
in it. And there was a gold locket contain- 


72 


HONEY-SWEET 


ing the portrait of a high-bred old gentle- 
man with soft, dark hair falling in curls 
about his shoulders. 

One gray morning early in November, 
Anne was wakened by an uncomfortable 
lump against her side. Sleepily she put 
her hand down to find out what it was. Her 
fingers closed on something hard, and open- 
ing them she saw rings, locket, and purse. 
The string around the packet had worn in 
two, the packet had come open and spilled 
its contents. Anne started up in bed, wide 
awake now, and glanced fearfully around. 
Honey-Sweet, snuggled down under the 
pillow, lay peacefully unaware that she had 
lost the treasure intrusted to her. All the 
girls were asleep. But at any moment one 
of them might wake. And it was almost 
time for Louise to come, bringing water and 
towels. Anne sprang out of bed, and with 
hurrying, trembling fingers tied the trinkets 
in the corner of a handkerchief and thrust 
them in the bottom of her box. 


HONEY-SWEET 


73 


Her thoughts wandered many times dur- 
ing the long routine of the long day — reci- 
tations, practice, exercise, study periods. 
Suppose Louise should open the box to put 
away clothes or to set its contents in order, 
find the packet, and report her to Mademoi- 
selle. The rules required that all jewelry be 
given in charge to one of the teachers. How 
would she — how could she — explain hav- 
ing these things ? In the afternoon play- 
time, Anne ran to the dormitory, took out 
her workbox, and began with hurried, awk- 
ward stitches to sew a handkerchief into a 
bag to contain the jewels. How the thread 
snarled and knotted ! How slowly the work 
progressed ! 

And then all at once, ‘‘Anne!” said a 
surprised voice. 

Anne gave a great start and tried to hide 
her work. 

“Anne, it is forbidden to come to the dor- 
mitory at this hour.” It was Mademoiselle 
Duroc that spoke. “Report for a demerit 


74 


HONEY-SWEET 


this evening. But what is it that you do 
there 

Anne was silent. 

‘‘Anne Lewis ! Answer !” 

“I was just making a little bag,” she 
murmured. 

“For what purpose.^” asked the awful 
voice. 

Anne faltered. “To — to put some 
things in.” 

“What things ?” 

Anne clasped her hands imploringly. “I 
cannot tell you, Mamzelle. I cannot. I 
cannot.” 

“You cannot tell ?” repeated Mademoi- 
selle Duroc. “I like not the mysteries. 
But I like the less to see you excite yourself 
into hysterics. Go downstairs and do not 
permit yourself to be found here again at 
this hour.” 

Anne dropped the unfinished bag into her 
box and went slowly downstairs. Made- 
moiselle Duroc followed her into the hall, 


HONEY-SWEET 


75 


stood there an undecided moment, then 
returned to the dormitory and paused be- 
side Anne’s box. She raised the lid, then 
dropped it, shaking her head. 

‘‘It is the most likely some child’s non- 
sense about a string of buttons or such a 
matter. It suits not with the sense of 
dignity for me to search her box like a dis- 
honest servant maid’s,” she said and re- 
turned to her room. 

That night Anne tossed restlessly about 
until the other girls were asleep, then rose 
with sudden resolve to finish the bag by the 
moonlight which poured through the muslin 
curtains. She laid the trinkets on the pillow 
beside Honey-Sweet and stitched away on 
the bag. A little more, a very little more, 
and her work would be done. She would 
tie the bag around Honey-Sweet’s waist 
and then surely the troublesome jewels 
would be safe. Suddenly there came a 
piercing scream from the bed beside hers. 
Mademoiselle Duroc’s door across the hall 


76 


HONEY-SWEET 


flew open, admitting a broad stream of 
light. 

‘‘What is the matter ?” demanded Made- 
moiselle. “Who screamed 

For a moment no one spoke. Mademoi- 
selle turned on the electric lights and her 
sharp black eyes searched the room. Bebe 
and Annette, wakened by the turmoil, sat 
up in bed, blinking at the light. Madge 
rolled over and grunted. Elsie continued 
to snore serenely. But Amelia and Anne 
were wide awake. Amelia was sitting bolt 
upright, staring about her. Anne had 
not moved; she held the needle in her 
right hand, the unfinished bag in her left ; 
beside her on the pillow gleamed the 
jewels. Mademoiselle’s eyes took in every 
detail. 

“ I demand to know who screamed,” she 
repeated. 

Amelia spoke sheepishly. “I was so 
sound asleep,” she said. “And then I 
waked up. I can’t help being ’fraid of 


HONEY-SWEET 


77 


ghosts and burglars and things. I saw — ■ 
it’s Anne — but I didn’t know. I just 
saw something between me and the window, 
and the hand went up and down — up and 
down. It frightened me. I screamed.” 

“It is the misfortune to be a so fearful 
coward,” commented Mademoiselle, dryly. 
“And you, Anne Lewis, you also are due to 
explain.” 

Anne sat pale and wordless. 

“You will have the goodness to give me 
those things from your pillow which belong 
not there,” said Mademoiselle, taking posses- 
sion of them. “Now you will please to put 
on your slippers and your dressing-gown, 
and we will have the interview in my room. 
This dormitory needs no more disturbance. 
I commend you to sleep, young ladies. I 
suggest, Amelia, that you cultivate repose 
and courage.” 

Anne entered Mademoiselle Duroc’s room 
with one thought in her bewildered brain. 
“I must not tell. I must not tell,” she 


78 HONEY-SWEET 

said over and over to herself. She stood 
with downcast eyes before Mademoiselle 
Duroc who examined the trinkets one after 
another. 

‘‘These rings are, I judge, of considerable 
value,” she said. “This is an exquisite 
little ruby. The locket is quaintly enam- 
elled. The miniature is of masterful 
workmanship; whose portrait is it she 
asked, raising her eyes to Anne’s frightened 
face. 

Anne shook her head. Her voice failed 
her. And she did not know that the stately 
old gentleman was her mother’s grand- 
father. 

“And you so disregard the rules as to 
have jewels in your open box — and money 
of this value,” continued Mademoiselle, 
emptying the coins out of the bead purse 
and putting her finger on the gold piece. 

“Is that money asked Anne, in amaze- 
ment. 

Mademoiselle looked up. “Do you mean 


HONEY-SWEET 


79 


to tell me that you were unaware that this 
is a twenty-doll a r coin ?” she asked. 

‘‘I never thought,” answered Anne. 
course I ought to have known. It was 
stupid. But I had never seen gold money 
before.” 

‘‘Where did you get it ?” demanded 
Mademoiselle. “And the other things .^” 

It was the question that Anne dreaded. 

“I cannot tell you, Mamzelle,” she an- 
swered, in a low voice. 

“Anne ! I demand to know whose things 
these are,” said Mademoiselle, in her most 
awful voice. 

“Mine, mine,” cried Anne. “But I can- 
not tell you about them, Mamzelle. In- 
deed I cannot — not if you kill me. I 
promised. I promised.” 

In vain did Mademoiselle Duroc question. 
At last she dismissed Anne who crept 
back to bed, and, holding Honey-Sweet 
tight, sobbed herself to sleep. 


CHAPTER X 

The next morning Anne was summoned to 
the office ; there she was coaxed and threat- 
ened by Miss Morris and questioned keenly 
by Mademoiselle Duroc. All to no purpose. 
She said in breathless whispers that she 
didn’t mean to be disobedient, she didn’t 
want to refuse to answer, but she could not, 
could not tell anything about the jewels. 
She confessed that Miss Drayton and Mrs. 
Patterson did not know that she had them. 

‘‘She must answer.” Miss Morris’s voice 
was rougher than it had ever been in Made- 
moiselle Duroc’s presence. “Permit me to 
whip her. Mademoiselle, and make her tell.” 

Mademoiselle shook her head slowly. 
Her voice was like spun silk as she replied : 
“If she does not answer when I speak, it is 
not my thought that she would answer to 

8o 


HONEY-SWEET 


8i 


the rod. Anne !” She fixed her clear, com- 
manding eyes again on the little culprit. 

‘‘Oh, Mamzelle, don’t ask me,” sobbed 
Anne. “I would tell you if I could. I 
will do anything else you want me. But I 
cannot — cannot — cannot tell.” 

Mademoiselle Duroc rose, looked over 
Anne’s head as if she were not there, and 
spoke to Miss Morris. “For the present, 
certainly, it is useless to persist,” she said. 
“Unless Anne Lewis makes the explana- 
tion of this matter, for a month she may 
not go on the playground, she may not take 
any recreation except a walk alone in the 
yard, she may have double tasks in the 
three studies in which her grade marks are 
lowest. I should send the full account of the 
matter to Madame Patterson and request 
that this child be removed from St. Cecilia’s 
School, were it not that Miss Drayton writes 
her sister is very ill. Therefore I will wait 
until the visit which Miss Drayton pro- 
poses to make to the city before the holidays 


82 


HONEY-SWEET 


and then I will place this matter before 
her. Anne is now excused from the room. 
I do not desire to see longer that which I 
have not before seen — a pupil who does not 
obey me.” 

Neither Mademoiselle Duroc nor Miss 
Morris mentioned the subject and we may 
be sure that Anne did not, but somehow 
the girls got hold of enough to gossip over 
and misrepresent the matter. It was 
whispered that Anne had a great heap of 
jewels and money and was being punished 
because she would not tell from whom she 
had stolen them. Perhaps she was to be 
sent to prison. Her classmates stared at 
her with curious, unfriendly eyes and even 
when she was allowed again to go on the 
playground, they kept away from her. 
Poor little Anne was very lonely. 

Several days after the jewels were discov- 
ered, Miss Morris was exceedingly cross. It 
was impossible to please her, even with per- 
fect recitations, and those Anne had, for she 


HONEY-SWEET 


83 


was studying more diligently than she had 
ever done — even the hated arithmetic — 
partly to occupy the long, lonely hours and 
partly to make up for her unwilling disobe- 
dience. By degrees Miss Morris became 
less stern. Anne ought to be punished 
and that severely, she thought; no pupil 
had ever before dared disobey Mademoiselle. 
But Miss Morris hated to see a child so 
lonely and miserable. She grew gentler 
and gentler with Anne, crosser and crosser 
with the other girls. It was certainly no 
affair of theirs to punish a classmate for — 
they knew not what. 

She saw and approved that sweet-tem- 
pered little Elsie Hart smiled and nodded 
to Anne at every quiet chance. Elsie would 
have liked to go on being friends, but that, 
she knew, would make the other girls angry 
and she prudently preferred to be on bad 
terms with one rather than with four. But 
she always offered her Saturday bonbons to 
Anne as to the other girls; she couldn’t 


84 


HONEY-SWEET 


enjoy them herself if she were so mean and 
stingy as not to do that, she declared 
stoutly. 

One afternoon — Anne was looking es- 
pecially dejected as she took her lonely 
walk in the west yard — Miss Morris thrust 
into Elsie’s hands a bag of candies and 
whispered hurriedly: “When you go to 
divide — yonder is Anne under the grape 
arbor and I do believe she’s crying.” 

Elsie trotted straight to Anne with her 
smiles and bonbons. Anne was so cheered 
that she came in, sat down at the study- 
table, and took up her history with whole- 
hearted interest. 

Amelia, on the other side of the table, 
looked up and frowned. “That’s a nawful 
hard hist’ry lesson,” she said. 

Anne was disinclined to speak to Amelia 
— Amelia had been so hateful ! — but 
finally she said rather curtly: “I don’t 
think it’s hard.” 

Amelia twirled a box that she held in her 


HONEY-SWEET 85 

hand. “I do. I can’t remember those old 
Mexican names, or who went where and 
which whipped when.” 

That made Anne laugh. ‘‘Of course you 
can,” she said. “Just play you’re there, 
marching ’long with the ’Merican soldiers. 
There’s General Taylor, sitting stiff and 
straight on a white horse. Up rides a little 
Mexican on a pony. ‘ Look at our gre’t big 
army and see how few men you’ve got,’ he 
says. ‘ S’render, General Taylor, s’render, 
before we beat you into a cocked hat.’ 
General Taylor looks at him — no, he does- 
n’t, he looks ’way ’cross the hills, — moun- 
tains, I mean — and says, ‘General Tay- 
lor never s’renders. ’ And the Mexican 
whips his pony and gallops away. Then 
General Taylor he draws up his little army 
of five thousand br-rave Americans right 
here — ” Anne put her finger on an ink- 
spot. 

“Let me get my book, Anne, and you go 
over all the lesson, won’t you ?” pleaded 


86 


HONEY-SWEET 


Amelia. ‘‘I used to know my lessons when 
you did that. And Miss Morris says if I 
don’t do better she is going to drop me out 
of class and give me review work in recre- 
ation hour. Please, Anne.” 

“I don’t care if I do,” responded Anne. 
She was lonely enough to feel that she would 
even enjoy studying a history lesson with 
stupid Amelia. 

“I’ll leave my box here.” Amelia started 
off, but came back a moment later. “I 
forgot I left my purse in my box,” she said. 
She opened the purse and counted the 
money. “I had another two-franc piece,” 
she said, with a sharp look at Anne. Anne 
glanced from the dominoes that she was 
drawing up in line of battle on the table. 

“Did you ?” she asked unconcernedly. 

Her indifference provoked Amelia. “ Y es, 
I did,” she asserted. “I had two two-franc 
pieces in my purse. One of them’s gone. 
Did you take it, Anne Lewis ?” 

“Take it ?” Anne repeated. Was Amelia 


HONEY-SWEET 87 

really suspecting — accusing her of taking 
the money ? That was impossible ! 

‘‘Yes, take it,” cried Amelia, flushed and 
angry. “You stole those jewels and money 
from no one knows who. Now you’ve stolen 
my money. You’ve got to give it back.” 

Every drop of blood seemed to ebb from 
Anne’s face, leaving it as pale as ashes, while 
her narrowed eyes blazed like live coals. 

“If you say that I — that word — again, 
Amelia Harvey,” she said slowly, “I will 
strike you.” v 

“Why, Anne Lewis !” exclaimed the 
shocked voice of Miss Morris who was sit- 
ting at her desk, correcting exercises. 
“What a wicked speech !” 

Anne was unrepentant. “She shall not 
say — that,” she said. “She is wicked to 
tell such a falsehood.” 

“I want my money,” persisted Amelia. 

“How much money did you have in your 
purse, Amelia?” asked Miss Morris. 
“Think now. Be sure.” 


88 


HONEY-SWEET 


‘‘I had two two-franc pieces/’ insisted 
Amelia, ‘‘and one is gone.” 

“You had two yeth’day,” lisped Elsie 
Hart, who had just come in. “And you 
bought a boxth of chocolath.” 

Amelia reddened. “I — I’d forgot,” she 
muttered. 

“Forgot! Amelia! You spent your 
money and then accused your schoolmate 
of taking it ! ” Miss Morris exclaimed in- 
dignantly. “You are a careless, careless, 
bad, bad girl. You ought to be ashamed 
of yourself. You must beg Anne to forgive 
you.” » 

“I’ll not forgive her, not if she asks me 
a thousand years,” stormed Anne. 

“Anne, Anne,” reproved Miss Morris. 
“What a bitter, revengeful spirit ! It 
makes me unhappy to hear you speak so. ” 

“I don’t care. I’m unhappy. I want 
everybody else to be unhappy,” said Anne, 
as she left the room, sobbing as if her heart 
would break. 


CHAPTER XI 


The long days dragged by and brought 
at last the Christmas holidays. Mrs. Pat- 
terson was stronger. She was able to join 
the shopping excursion, waiting in the car- 
riage while Miss Drayton came in to get 
Anne. 

Miss Drayton exclaimed at sight of the 
pale little face. 

‘‘What is the matter with her, Mademoi- 
selle Duroc ?” she inquired anxiously. “She 
has not been ill ? Has she been studying 
too hard 

“She studies,” answered Mademoiselle; 
“but she thrived till the month ago. There 
is a matter which I must beg leave to discuss 
with you and madame your sister.” 
r The little hand which lay in Miss Dray- 
ton’s twitched and clung tight. Miss Dray- 
89 


90 


HONEY-SWEET 


ton smiled protectingly at the child, who 
looked like a quivering rabbit cowering be- 
fore hunting dogs. ‘‘If it be a matter of 
broken rules — or anything unpleasant — 
let us pass it by, Mademoiselle Duroc. If 
you please ! This is Christmas, you know.” 

“The matter is too serious to ignore,” 
protested Mademoiselle. 

“If it must be,” Miss Drayton yielded 
reluctantly. “But we must not spoil our 
Christmas. And, really, my sister is still 
too unwell to be annoyed. After Christ- 
mas, if it must be.” 

“After Christmas, then,” Mademoiselle 
submitted. 

Anne threw herself into Mrs. Patterson’s 
arms in an ecstasy of delight. “I’m so 
glad that it hurts,” she exclaimed. “I’d 
forgot what good times there are in the 
world.” 

“Let me hold Honey-Sweet. She’s too 
heavy for you,” urged Pat. 

“No, I thank you,” laughed Anne. “She 


HONEY-SWEET 


91 


doesn’t want to be a William Tell’s child 
or a Daniel in the lions’ den. I was so glad 
you sent me word to bring Honey-Sweet, 
Mrs. Patterson,” she continued joyously. 

I wanted to bring her, and it’s so much 
nicer when she’s invited.” 

‘H want you to lend her to me a little 
while,” Mrs. Patterson answered. ‘H’ll not 
make her a William Tell’s child or a Daniel 
in the lions’ den. I — let me whisper it so 
she’ll not hear — I want to get her a Christ- 
mas present and it is one I can’t select in 
her absence.” 

They made the round of the shops, gay 
with Christmas decorations and thronged 
with merry shoppers. Anne was full of 
eager excitement. Mrs. Patterson gave her 
a little purse full of shining silver pieces, 
which she was to spend as she pleased. 

Anne clapped her hands with delight. 
‘H’ll buy a present for Elsie,” she said, 
^‘and perhaps Pll get something for Miss 
Morris and Louise.” 


92 


HONEY-SWEET 


‘‘I would buy a gift for each of my class- 
mates, if I were you,” Mrs. Patterson sug- 
gested. ‘‘It is pleasant to remember every 
one.” 

“O — oh!” Anne’s face clouded. “But 
if they haven’t been nice — ” 

“Those are the very ones to remember at 
Christmas time,” interrupted Mrs. Patter- 
son. “Peace and good will ! If there is any 
one who has been especially un-nice to you, 
this is such a good time to be specially nice 
to that person.” 

“But I’m not going to forgive Amelia,” 
Anne asserted quietly but positively. 

“Well, well, dearie ! we’ll not talk about 
anything disagreeable to-day,” said Mrs. 
Patterson. “But do you know, I think it 
would be fun to give Amelia the nicest 
present of all ?” 

“Mademoiselle Duroc was pretty bad, 
too,” said Anne. 

“Then what about a nice present for 
Mademoiselle?” inquired Mrs. Patterson. 


HONEY-SWEET 


93 


‘^But just as you like, dear. This is do- 
as-you-please day for you and Pat. Now 
Honey-Sweet and I are going to do a little 
shopping alone and then we’ll rest and wait 
for you in the ladies’ room.” 

‘H like to do what you say,” said Anne, 
thoughtfully. ‘‘Maybe I won’t hate so bad 
to give them presents if I make a play of it. 
I’ll try.” 

She counted out her silver pieces and de- 
cided on the price of the gifts that she would 
choose for each of her teachers and class- 
mates. Then she shut her eyes and when 
she opened them she ‘made pretend’ she 
was Mademoiselle Duroc, moving slow and 
stately like a parade or a procession, and she 
chose a stiff little jet-and-gold hair ornament. 
Next Anne was Miss Morris. For a min- 
ute she puifed out her cheeks and flapped 
her arms, imitating the turkey-cock mood. 
Then she thrust out her chin, drew down her 
brows, and hurried along, with her fingers 
clenched as if she held a handful of exercises. 


94 


HONEY-SWEET 


That was the busy, hard-working, kind- 
hearted Miss Morris for whom she selected 
a silver-mounted ink-stand. There was an 
enamelled belt pin for finery-loving Annette, 
a gay set of paper dolls for little Bebe, a new 
story book for book-loving Madge, a silver 
stamp-box for Elsie, and for Amelia a 
pretty blue silk workbag fitted with needles, 
thimble, and scissors. There was a box of 
bonbons for Louise and for the cross cook 
a gay fan which displayed the red, white, 
and blue of the American flag, — “for I 
shouldn’t be so cross if I were not so un- 
comfortable in my hot, hot kitchen,” Anne 
said, waddling along with arms akimbo, 
“and I’m sure I can keep cooler with such 
a be-yu-tiful fan.” 

“Now I’ve bought my duty presents, 
I’ll buy my love ones,” announced Anne, 
gayly. “I’m going to buy Elsie another 
present — a big box of ^chocolate creamth’ 
— she does adore them. These three wise 
monkeys are for Pat. There isn’t any- 


HONEY-SWEET 


95 


thing good enough for dear Mrs. Patterson, 
but ril get her a lovely big bottle of cologne. 
Don’t you peep, Miss Drayton, while I 
choose your present,” Anne charged, as 
she tripped about the shop, selecting at 
last a pretty silver hat pin. 

Miss Drayton laughingly asserted that 
Anne, chattering away in her assumed 
characters, was as good as a play and ex- 
claimed that she had no idea it was so late 
and they must go at once to Mrs. Patterson 
who would be worn out waiting for them. 
So Pat was dragged from the display of 
sporting goods, and they hurried to the 
ladies’ room where Mrs. Patterson was 
resting in an easy chair. She was pale but 
smiling. 

“Pm like you, Anne,” she said; “I 
had forgotten what good times there are 
in the world. Before we go to luncheon, 
I want to know if Honey-Sweet’s mother 
approves of her. I told you that her hair 
would grow, you know. See!” She un- 


96 


HONEY-SWEETj 


tied the strings and took off Honey-Sweet’s 
cap. Instead of a bald head with a few 
painted ringlets, there were wavy golden 
locks of real hair. It is no use to try to 
express Anne’s delight. She couldn’t do it 
herself. She laughed and cried and hugged 
first Honey-Sweet, then Mrs. Patterson, 
then both together. 

A soft wet snow was falling, and amid its 
whiteness and the glittering lights and the 
merry bustle of the holiday crowds, the 
carriage turned homeward. After such a 
happy day, nothing could ever be so bad 
again, it seemed to Anne, as she kissed her 
friends good-by and ran light-heartedly up 
the steps. 

The gift-giving and gift-receiving and 
merry-making of the Christmas holidays 
brought Anne back into the circle of her 
schoolmates. But her troubles were not 
over. One afternoon early in the new 
year, Mrs. Patterson and Miss Drayton 
came for the promised interview with Mad- 


HONEY-SWEET 


97 


emoiselle Duroc. She showed them the 
purse and jewels discovered in Anne’s pos- 
session, and told them the whole story. Mrs. 
Patterson and Miss Drayton were amazed. 
They had never before seen any of the ar- 
ticles. Miss Drayton had packed Anne’s 
trunk on the steamer and had unpacked and 
repacked it at the Liverpool hotel and she 
was sure that the things were not in the 
child’s baggage. Two of the rings were of 
considerable value. The locket was hand- 
some and looked like an heirloom.’ 

“The child does not know whose portrait 
it contains, — that she confesses,” said 
Mademoiselle Duroc. “And there Is the 
money — the gold piece.” 

Perplexed as she was, Mrs. Patterson’s 
faith was unshaken in the child who had 
always seemed so straightforward and hon- 
orable. Miss Drayton wanted to believe 
in Anne, but she remembered the uncle 
whose story they had not told Mademoiselle ; 
after all, they knew little of the child ; noth- 


98 


HONEY-SWEET 


ing of her family, except that her uncle 
had used his employer’s money and had fled 
from justice. Was the taint of dishon- 
esty in her blood ^ For all her candid ap- 
pearance, Anne had been keeping a secret. 
But perhaps there was some explanation 
which she would make to her friends, though 
she had withheld it from Mademoiselle 
Duroc. 

Anne was summoned and came tripping 
into the room. Her face clouded when she 
saw the jewels in Mademoiselle Duroc’s 
hand and the grave, questioning faces of 
her friends. 

“Don’t ask me about those, please, dear 
Mrs. Patterson,” she entreated. “I can’t 
tell you anything now. I’ll tell you all 
about it then.” 

“Then? when?” asked Miss Drayton. 

“Wh-when we get to Nantes — if ever we 
do go there,” sobbed Anne. 

“What nonsense is this, Anne?” in- 
quired Miss Drayton. “Of course you 


HONEY-SWEET 


99 


must explain the matter. Did you have 
these things on shipboard ?” 

‘‘No, Miss Drayton.” 

“Where did you get them ?” 

The child did not answer. 

“Whose are these things, Anne ?” asked 
Miss Drayton, more sternly. 

“Mine, mine, mine!” cried Anne. “In- 
deed, ni tell you all about them when we 
get to Nantes.” 

“Anne 1 What do you mean ? Nantes I 
What has Nantes to do with it } You are 
making my sister ill. See how pale she is ! 
— Emily, dear Emily, don’t look so troubled. 
If only I had taken the matter up with 
you alone. Mademoiselle Duroc 1” 

“I wish I could tell. I do wish I could,” 
moaned Anne. 

Entreaty and command were in vain. 

“We shall have to let the matter rest for 
the present,” said Miss Drayton, at last. 
“It has overtaxed my sister’s strength.” 

“Never mind me,” protested Mrs. Pat- 


lOO 


HONEY-SWEET 


terson. “I am troubled only for the child’s 
sake. Oh, there must be some reasonable, 
right explanation of it all !” 

“I hope so,” said Miss Drayton, hope- 
lessly. 

Mademoiselle Duroc had taken no part 
in the conversation with Anne. Now she 
spoke : “Permit me to suggest that I 
prefer not to retain charge of a pupil that 
has the secrets and mysteries. Will madame 
be so good — ” 

“No, no. Mademoiselle Duroc!” inter- 
rupted Miss Drayton. “You will — you 
must — do us the favor to keep the child 
for the present, until my sister is stronger 
— until we are able to make other arrange- 
ments.” 

There was a pause. Then Mademoiselle 
said inquiringly, “These jewels, you will 
take charge of them?” 

“ No, oh, no 1 ” said Miss Drayton, hast- 
ily. “Something may turn up — there may 
be some claimant — but she insists they are 


HONEY-SWEET 


lOI 


hers. — Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! — We will come 
back. Mademoiselle, when my sister is bet- 
ter and we will discuss the matter again.” 

But week after week passed without 
bringing the promised visit. Instead, Anne 
received kind but brief and worried notes 
from Miss Drayton, enclosing the weekly 
pocket money. Now and then, there was 
a picture post-card from Mrs. Patterson, 
with a loving message to Anne or two or 
three lines to Honey-Sweet. The invalid 
was not improving. In fact, she was 
growing worse. So the days wore on till 
February. 

One crisp frosty morning found Mrs. 
Patterson lying on a couch beside her 
window. In the foreground was a park-like 
expanse with trees showing their graceful 
branching in exquisite tracery against the 
clear blue sky. Beyond lay Paris, its red 
and gray roofs showing among the bare 
trees, with domes, spires, and gilded crosses 
cresting the irregular line. 


102 


HONEY-SWEET 


‘‘The view here is beautiful, is it not ?” 
said Miss Drayton. ^ 

Mrs. Patterson did not move her eyes from 
the horizon line. “ I was thinking of home,” 
she said. “How beautiful it is there these 
February mornings ! Our noble rows of 
elms and oaks and maples ! Up the avenue, 
the domes of the Capitol and the Library 
are shining against the gray or gold or rosy 
sky. And there is the monument pointing 
heavenward. Oh, the broad streets, the 
merry, busy throngs of our own people ! I 
should like to see it all again. Sarah, let 
us go home. I want — to be there — my 
last days.” 

Miss Drayton’s eyes filled with tears, 
but she kept her voice steady : “It shall 
be as you wish, sister. We will go home,” 
she said. 

Leaving Pat and Anne at school, they 
made the home-going voyage, and Mrs. 
Patterson spent her last weeks in her be- 
loved homeland. 


CHAPTER XII 


After her sister’s death, Miss Drayton 
went with a cousin for a quiet summer in 
the Adirondacks. Before leaving, she had 
meant to talk to her brother-in-law about 
Anne, to tell him of her sister’s wish to 
keep the child, and to say that she herself 
would take charge of the little orphan. 
But she was so tired ! Life seemed very 
empty and yet she shrank from any new 
responsibility. So day after day passed, 
and she went away without saying a word 
about Anne. After all, it would be time 
enough, she thought, when the children were 
brought back to America. 

In his great new loneliness, Mr. Patter- 
son’s heart turned more than ever to his son ; 
and he put aside business engagements and 
went, by the swiftest boat and the fastest 


103 


104 


HONEY-SWEET 


train, to join Pat in Paris and bring him 
home. 

Father and son met with a formal but 
hearty handshake. 

‘‘Howdy, dad.” 

“Hello, son. How’s your health ?” 

The French man-servant, looking on at 
this greeting, shrugged his shoulders. “My 
son and I would have given the kiss and 
the embrace,” he commented to himself. 
“But they — how very American !” 

‘Very American’ they both were. Mr. 
Patterson was a slim, alert business man, 
with a firm chin cleft in the middle, mouth 
hidden by a tawny, drooping '^mustache, 
deep-set gray eyes under a broad brow from 
which the brown hair was rapidly receding 
at the temples. Pat had his father’s cleft 
chin, straight nose, and square forehead; 
but his mouth curved like his mother’s and 
like hers were the hazel eyes and curly 
dark hair. He was a sturdy, well-set-up 
young American, who played good foot- 


HONEY-SWEET 


los 

ball and excellent baseball and studied 
fairly well — not that he had any deep inter- 
est in books, for he meant to be a business 
man like his father, but his mother wished 
him to get good reports and a certain class- 
standing was necessary to keep from being 
debarred sports. 

Mr. Patterson was glad that Pat liked 
his school, glad that he did not like it so 
well as to regret going home. ‘‘After all, 
there is nothing like an American school 
for an American boy,” he said. 

“And baseball the way we play it at home 
is the thing,” declared Pat. 

They made plans for their voyage the 
next week, and then Mr. Patterson rose to 
go, saying he’d be in again, but couldn’t 
tell just when, as he’d be pretty busy, ex- 
amining some new motor machinery. 

“Have you been to see little sister, 
father?” inquired Pat. 

Mr. Patterson looked at his son with- 
out replying. How he had hoped there 


io6 HONEY-SWEET 

would be a little sister — that his home 
would ring with the music of young, happy 
voices ! How sad and silent it was now ! 
He pulled himself together as Pat im- 
patiently repeated the question. 

‘‘Father, have you been to see little 
sister ? — Anne Lewis, you know. Mother 
said she was to be my little sister — and I 
must be good to her. She’s a number one 
little chap. Can throw a ball straight and 
can reel off dandy tales that she makes up 
herself. Don’t you think she’s cute-look- 
ing?” 

“I haven’t seen her, son,” answered 
Mr. Patterson. “Fact is, I had really for- 
gotten that child. I must see about her.” 

Anne, shy and silent always with strangers, 
entered the drawing-room slowly. She put 
her hand timidly into Mr. Patterson’s, then 
sat down, very prim and uncomfortable, 
with her legs dangling from the edge of the 
chair and answered his questions in a shy 
undertone and the fewest possible words. 


HONEY-SWEET 107 

Mr. Patterson was hardly less embarrassed 
than she. 

After he asked about her health and her 
studies, and how she liked school, and if 
she would be glad to go back to America, 
and told her that he had seen Pat and Pat 
had asked about her, there seemed really 
nothing else to say. It was a relief when 
Mademoiselle Duroc entered the room and 
asked if Anne might be excused to practise 
a marching ^song. 

‘‘I beg ten thousand pardons for the in- 
terruption,” she said. ‘‘But monsieur un- 
derstands, I am quite sure. The finals of 
school approach so rapidly and we would 
not have the pupils fail to do credit to the 
kind patrons.” 

“Of course, of course. That’s all right,” 
answered Mr. Patterson. “ I wished to talk 
to you, anyway — about this child — ” as 
Anne accepted the excuse and gladly de- 
parted. “Can you give me a few minutes 
now ? Thank you. — I cannot say. I 


io8 


HONEY-SWEET 


suppose the child has improved. I had 
not seen her before. She was alone on 
shipboard and my wife took charge of her. — 
Oh, no ! there was no formal adoption. I 
shall take her back to America, of course. 
Her people may turn up or — or — I have- 
n’t decided what I’ll do about her. I 
haven’t really thought about it. Tell me 
what you can about the child, please.” 

Mademoiselle Duroc answered with care- 
ful details. Anne was clever, fairly studious, 
well-mannered, amiable, rather quick-tem- 
pered. The session marks had not been 
made out but they would show her stand- 
ing good in most of her studies. Deport- 
ment excellent. ‘‘Her mark in that would 
be almost perfect were it not for the one 
affair. I refer to the jewel episode. One 
has informed monsieur of that 

Mr. Patterson confessed his ignorance 
and Mademoiselle Duroc related the inci- 
dent which we already know. No light had 
ever been thrown on the matter. 


HONEY-SWEET 


109 


“Do you suppose she stole the things ?” 
asked Mr. Patterson, bluntly. 

Mademoiselle shrugged her shoulders and 
thrust the question from her with a sweeping 
gesture of both hands. “There has been 
nothing to prove — nothing to disprove. 
Absolutely. I look at that slim, small child 
sometimes and raise my hands to heaven 
in amaze.” 

Mr. Patterson rose. “Thank you. I 
have taken a great deal of your time. You 
understand it was important for me to 
know about this child. My wife wished 
to adopt her. If she had lived — but 
without her I should hesitate under any 
circumstances ; under these, I cannot un- 
dertake the responsibility. I will put the 
little girl in an orphanage in her native 
state. That is the best place for a child 
that needs oversight and — er — prob- 
ably severe discipline. I have engaged 
passage for the twelfth. I will send a cab 
for the child. You will have her ready ? 


no 


HONEY-SWEET 


Thank you. If you will mail me your bill 
to Hotel Amitie, it shall have prompt at- 
tention.” 

‘‘Thank you, monsieur. If I am not to 
see you again, you will now take charge of 
the small packet, the jewels 

“No, no, indeed.” Mr. Patterson drew 
back. 

“But madame directed me to keep them 
for the child if there arose no claimants,” 
said Mademoiselle. 

“Then turn them over to the child. You 
got them from her,” said Mr. Patterson. 
“I have nothing to do with them. Good- 
morning.” 

Awaiting the sailing-date set by Mr. 
Patterson, Anne lingered some days after 
the other pupils. One morning Louise 
came in to pack her trunk and to say that 
Mademoiselle Duroc wished to see her in the 
small study. 

“ I sent for you to bid you farewell and to 
return to you these jewels,” Mademoiselle 


HONEY-SWEET 


III 


said. “It is grief to me that you have been 

so secret about the matter and made the , 

« 

distress for your friends.” - 

Anne’s eyes filled with tears. It hurt her 
to remember that she had refused to answer 
Mrs. Patterson’s questions. How pale and 
troubled the dear face had looked ! And 
now she could never, never explain. Could 
she ever tell Miss Drayton or Pat ? Prob- 
ably not. What a dreadful thought ! “ I 

am so sorry, Mamzelle,” she faltered. “In- 
deed, it is not my fault. I had to promise. 

I was not to tell any one till we went to 
Nantes. I kept hoping we would go. Now 
we never shall. And I do want to tell 
them.” 

Here was a clew and Mademoiselle’s 
quick wit followed it. “ Is It that you mean, 
Anne,” she asked, “that some one — a 
person whose wish had the right to be re- 
garded — told you that you might explain 
the matter to your guardian when, you went 
to Nantes ?” 


II2 


HONEY-SWEET 


“Yes, Mamzelle, that was it,’’ Anne re- 
sponded eagerly. “He said I might tell 
then.” » 

“He,” mused Mademoiselle. “Who, 
Anne ?” 

Anne did not answer. 

“Where were you when he told you this ? ” 

Anne hesitated, debating with herself 
whether her uncle would wish her to tell. 
Mademoiselle changed the question. j 

“When he had you to promise that, were 
you expecting to go to Nantes ?” 

“Yes, Mamzelle.” Anne was sure she 
might answer this. “And then seeing 
Dr. La Farge changed all the plans, you 
know.” 

Mademoiselle nodded her head. Yes, she 
knew. “I begin to understand some of the 
affair, Anne,” she said, thinking intently 
and putting her thoughts into slow English. 
“I think you have been making the mis- 
take. This person he wished you to let 
a certain time lapse before the telling by 


HONEY-SWEET 


113 

you. For some reason. One week or two 
weeks or three. It was known to him that 
you expected to go to Nantes ? Ah ! so he 
did tell you to promise to await that time ? 
So it was !” 

‘‘I haven’t told you anything I ought 
not to, have I, Mamzelle ?” inquired Anne, 
anxiously. ^‘He said if I told — before we 
reached Nantes, you know — it would bring 
him dreadful harm.” 

, '/‘Indeed, no,” laughed Mademoiselle 
Duroc. “You have told me nothing but 
that you are the so faithful, so stupid prom- 
ise-keeper. Take my word for it, Anne,” 
she continued gravely, “the time has long 
passed to which the ‘he’ wished to defer 
the telling about the jewels. It is due your 
friends and you that you make the matter 
clear. As soon as possible. I regret that 
we did not understand. I have much of 
interest for the secret. But I see that it 
is not for me.” 

Louise tapped at the door and said that 


1 14 HONEY-SWEET 

Miss Anne’s trunk was ready and the cab 
was waiting. ^ 

Mademoiselle gave Anne a stately salute 
and put the little package in her hand. 
‘‘Ask Mr. Patterson to take charge of this 
packet for you,” she said. “Good-by, my 
child. Bon voyage 

Anne followed Louise who straightened 
her ribbons and tied on her hat. 

“Louise,” she said, in her halting French, 
“I’ve not been very much trouble to you, 
have I?” 

“Not more than the usual. Young ladies 
are born to be the trouble-makers,” re- 
sponded Louise. 

“Because I didn’t want to. And I 
should like some one to be sorry I am going,” 
said Anne. “Here is the silver piece Mr. 
Patterson gave me. You take it, Louise. 
Would you mind — won’t you kiss me 
good-by, Louise, and can you miss me one 
little bit ?” 

“A thousand thanks, little one!” ex- 


HONEY-SWEET 


115 

claimed Louise. ‘‘How droll you are! I 
will give you many kisses with all the good 
will. Yes, and I do grieve to see you go, 
you alone little one !” 

The return voyage was rough and stormy. 
Mr. Patterson was half-sick and wholly 
miserable all the way. He lay pale and 
silent in his steamer chair, trying to rouse 
himself now and then to talk with Pat about 
subjects of schoolboy interest. But it was 
an effort and Pat felt it so ; after a few rest- 
less minutes, he was apt to say : — 

“Excuse me, father, Pve thought of 
something I want to tell Anne.’’ 

“Please tell me when it’s ten o’clock, 
father ; Anne and I are to play ring-toss. ” 
“Anne has been telling a ripping story. 
Pll go and hear some more of it, if you don’t 
mind.” 

Mr. Patterson did mind. He was, though 
he did not confess it to himself, jealous of 
Anne for whom his son was always so 
ready and eager to leave him. He justified 


ii6 


HONEY-SWEET 


to himself his dislike of the child by recall- 
ing the jewel episode. 

Anne had not given him even the half- 
way explanation that Mademoiselle Duroc 
had obtained. She was going to tell Miss 
Drayton — how she longed to see that good 
friend and pour forth the story ! But Mr. 
Patterson asked no questions and it never 
occurred to her to offer him any information. 
She had given him her precious packet and 
asked him to take charge of it, according 
to Mademoiselle’s suggestion. He had ac- 
cepted the charge reluctantly, as a matter 
of necessity. As soon as they passed the 
custom-house in New York, he sealed the 
articles in an envelope which he handed to 
Anne, saying curtly: “You had these be- 
fore ; take them again,” 

Mr. Patterson, Pat, and Anne took the 
first south-bound train, and a few hours 
later found them in Washington. Passing 
from the noble Union Station, they took an 
Avenue car and whirled past Peace Monu- 


HONEY-SWEET 


117 

merit, between the shabby buildings on the 
right and the Botanical Gardens on the 
left. Mr. Patterson sat in frowning silence. 
A sorry home-coming this. How eager he 
had been in former days to reach the old 
home in Georgetown, which now was closed 
and silent. Ah ! he must try not to think 
about that. He pulled himself together 
and rang the bell. 

^‘We are going to stop at the Raleigh,” 
he said, in answer to Pat’s surprised look. 
‘‘Our house is shut up, you know. Pll have 
you children sent to your rooms. I must 
get off some telegrams and attend to some 
business. We’ll get out of this hot hole 
to-morrow. ” 

Pat pleaded and was allowed to take 
Anne for a sight-seeing ride. What a gay 
time they had ! Everything delighted 
Anne — the stately Capitol, the gold-domed 
Library of Congress, the noble-columned 
Treasury Building, the sky-pointing Wash- 
ington Monument, the broad streets 


ii8 


HONEY-SWEET 


over-arched with ' stately trees, the grassy 
squares and flower-bordered circles dotted 
with statues. 

^‘Oh, isn’t it beautiful i Isn’t it beau- 
tiful Anne exclaimed over and over. 
told them America was the best. I told 
them so. I do wish Mademoiselle Duroc 
could see it and Louise and cook Cochon.” 

Mr. Patterson was waiting for his son in 
the hotel lobby. ‘‘Here, Pat, come here,” 
he said. “Orton, this is my boy. — Pat, 
here’s a streak of luck for us. I’ve just 
run across this friend of mine who’s in- 
structor at George Washington University. 
He’s taking a party of boys to a camp in 
the Virginia mountains — fine boating and 
swimming, all the fun you want. Starting 
to-night. Says he can manage to take 
another boy. How would you like to go 
with him instead of to your Aunt Sarah ?” 

“Fine !” said Pat, eagerly. “I’ve always 
wanted to go camping. Good fishing, too ?” 

“Great. You trot along with Mr. Orton, 


HONEY-SWEET 


1 19 

and let him help you get the things you 
need. He kindly says he will.” 

“There’s Anne, father,” said Pat, looking 
toward the little figure hovering shyly on 
the outskirts of the group. “Is Anne go- 
ing, too?” 

“This is just a boy’s camp, Pat,” laughed 
Mr. Orton. “There isn’t any room for 
girls in our rough-and-tumble gang.” 

Mr. Patterson summoned a maid to take 
Anne to her room. “I’m going to take 
Anne to Richmond to-morrow,” he ex- 
plained curtly. “I’ll try to run up and 
see you, Pat, before I get back to work. 
Time’s getting pretty scarce, though. Run 
along and get your rig. Draw on me, 
Orton, for what you need. Fit him out 
O. K.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


Leaving Anne at a Richmond hotel, Mr. 
Patterson drove to an orphanage on the out- 
skirts of the city. He had wired the super- 
intendent that he was coming and had 
brought letters and papers from the Wash- 
ington office of the Associated Charities. 
He told Miss Farlow, the superintendent, 
the story of the child, without mentioning 
the jewel affair. 

‘‘ Let them find her out for themselves,’’ 
he reflected. ‘‘ I’ll not start her off with 
a handicap.” 

As he went out of the bare, spotless sitting- 
room into the bare, spotless hall, the children 
of the ‘Home’ filed past, two by two, for 
their afternoon walk. There were twenty- 
six sober-faced girls in blue cotton frocks and 
broad-brimmed straw hats. 


120 


HONEY-SWEET 


I2I 


‘‘They take exercise regularly, sir,” said 
the superintendent. “We’re careful with 
them in all ways. They’re well-fed, kept 
neat, taught good manners, and have all 
pains taken with their education and train- 
ing. We do our best for them and try to 
get them good homes.” 

“I am sure of that.” Good heavens ! — 
how he would hate his child to be one of the 
twenty-six ! Poor little Anne ! Mr. Pat- 
terson caught himself up impatiently. He 
was no more responsible for her than for 
any, or all, of the others. If his wife had 
lived — but he — a widower, whose job 
kept him thousands of miles away from 
home most of the time, — it was unreason- 
able to expect him to keep an orphan girl 
whom his family had picked up. Ugh ! 
How he’d hate to trot along in that blue- 
frocked line! “I’m a dawdling idiot,” 
he said irritatedly to himself. “What am I 
worrying about ? I’ve done the sensible 
thing, the only possible thing. Her own 


122 


HONEY-SWEET 


people deserted her. I’ve secured her a 
decent home and honest training. Whew ! 
It’s later than I thought. I’ll have to rush 
to make that four-ten train.” 

An hour later, having given hurried 
explanations to Anne and started her off 
in a cab, he was on a north-bound train. 

And Anne ? 

The bewildered child gathered only one 
fact from his speech. She was not going to 
Miss Drayton, as she had expected — dear 
Miss Drayton, to whom she longed to pour 
forth her secret. Instead, she was going to 
strangers — people, Mr. Patterson said, who 
took care of little girls that had no fathers 
and mothers. 

She hugged Honey-Sweet tight in her 
arms and walked up the steps of the square 
brown house. 

If you have never seen the ‘ Home 
for Girls,’ you will wish me to describe 
Anne’s new abode. Let me see. I have 
said that the house was square and brown. 


HONEY-SWEET 


123 


haven’t I ? with many green-shuttered 
windows. The grounds were large and 
well-kept — almost too spick and span, 
for one expects twenty-six children to 
leave behind them such marks of good 
times as paper dolls and picture-books, cro- 
quet-mallets and tennis balls on trampled 
turf. 

The brick walk led straight between rows 
of neatly-clipped box to the front door. 
In the grass plot on the right, there was a 
circle of scarlet geraniums and on the left 
there was a circle of scarlet verbenas. On 
one side of the porch, there was a neatly- 
trimmed rose-bush with straggling yellow 
blossoms, and on the other side there was 
a white rose-bush. 

The front door was open. Anne saw a 
long, narrow hall with whitewashed walls 
and a bare, clean floor. A curtain which 
screened the back of the hall fluttered in the 
breeze, and disclosed a long rack hold- 
ing twenty-six pairs of overshoes, and 


124 


HONEY-SWEET 


above them, each on its own hook, twenty- 
six straw hats. Anne counted them while 
she waited and her heart sank — why, she 
could not have told. She knew that no 
matter how long she might live, she would 
never, never, never want a broad-brimmed 
straw hat with a blue ribbon round it. A 
subdued clatter of knives and forks came 
from a room at the back. Anne reflected 
that this place seemed more like a boarding- 
school than a home. How odd it was to 
have a sign over the door saying that it was 
a ‘Home’! And ‘for Girls.’ How did 
the people choose that their children were 
to be just girls ? 

While she was thinking these things, the 
cabman put her trunk down on the porch, 
rang the bell, and stamped down the steps. 
No use waiting here for a fee. A door at 
the back of the hall opened, and there came 
forward a girl with a scrubbed-looking face 
and a blue-and-white gingham apron over 
a blue cotton frock. She fixed her round 


HONEY-SWEET 


125 


china-blue eyes on Anne, and waited for her 
to speak. 

Anne opened her mouth and then shut 
it again. She did not know what to say. 
The blue-aproned girl caught sight of the 
trunk. 

‘‘Oh, you’re a new one !” she exclaimed. 

She was so positive that Anne did not 
like to disagree with her. “I — I reckon 
I’m newer than I’m old,” she said politely. 

The girl grinned. “You come to stay, 
ain’t you ? That your trunk ?” 

“Yes,” stammered Anne. “Mr. Patter- 
son says — there’s a lady here — ” 

“You want to see Miss Farlow. She’s 
the superintendent,” explained the girl, still 
grinning. “Just you wait in the office till 
she comes from supper — ” and she opened 
a door on the right. “My! didn’t that 
cabman leave a lot of mud on the steps ? — 
and tracks on the porch ? Mollie’ll have 
to scrub it again. She’ll be so mad 1” 

The next day there was a new pair of 


126 


HONEY-SWEET 


overshoes on the rack, and instead of 
twenty-six, there were twenty-seven broad- 
brimmed, blue-ribboned hats. 

After all, Anne was not unhappy in her 
new surroundings. She missed cheery Miss 
Drayton and mischievous Pat, of course, 
but they seemed so far away from the sober 
life of the institution that she accepted 
without wonder the fact that she heard 
nothing from either of them. The past 
year was like a dream. Anne felt some- 
times as if she had been at the ‘Home’ for- 
ever and forever. She soon solved, to her own 
satisfaction and Honey-Sweet’s, the meaning 
of the name ‘Home for Girls.’ “It’s one 
of the words that means it isn’t the thing 
it says,” she explained. “Like butterfly. 
That isn’t a fly and it doesn’t make butter. 
And ‘Home for Girls’ means that it isn’t 
a home at all, but a schooly, outside-sort-of 
place.” 

The girls lacked mothering, it is true, but 
they were governed kindly though strictly. 


HONEY-SWEET 


127 


The simple fare was wholesome and the 
daily round of work, study, and exercise 
brought the children to it with healthy 
appetites. It being vacation time, the 
schoolroom was closed. But each girl had 
household tasks, which she was required to 
perform with accuracy, neatness, and de- 
spatch. * 

‘‘The world is full of dawdlers and half- 
doers,” said Miss Farlow, wisely. “Their 
ranks are crowded. But there is always 
good work and good pay for those who have 
the habit of doing work well — be it baking 
puddings or writing Greek grammars. I 
want my girls to form the habit of well- 
doing.” 

Anne always listened with respect to Miss 
Farlow. She was one of the grown-ups that 
it seemed must always have been grown up. 
You would have amazed Anne if you had 
told her that Miss Farlow was still young 
and, with her fresh color, good features, and 
soft, abundant hair, really ought to be pretty. 


128 


HONEY-SWEET 


But there were anxious lines around the 
eyes and mouth, and the hair was always 
drawn straight back so as to show at its 
worst the high, knobby forehead. Poor, 
patient, earnest, hard-working Miss Far- 
low ! She was brought face to face with 
much of the world’s need and longed to re- 
move it all and was able to relieve so little. 
She had at her disposal funds to support 
twenty homeless girls. Because she could 
not bear to turn away one needing help, 
she was always saving and scrimping so as 
to take care of more. One cannot wonder 
that she found life serious and solemn. Yet 
if only she had known how to laugh and 
forget her work sometimes, she might have 
done more good as well as been happier 
herself. 

From the first, Anne was a puzzle to the 
sober-minded lady. A few days after Anne 
entered the home, she was sent into the 
office to be reproved. Slim and erect in 
her short blue frock, she stood before the 


HONEY-SWEET 


129 


superintendent. Miss Farlow looked at 
the slip of paper from the pupil teacher : 
‘‘Anne Lewis; disorderly; laughed aloud 
in the Sunday study class.” 

“Why did you laugh during the Bible 
lesson, Anne Lewis asked Miss Farlow. 
She always called each girl by her full name. 
“You knew that it was naughty, did you 
not?” 

“I did not mean to be naughty,” said 
Anne, penitently. “I just laughed at my- 
self.” 

“Laughed at yourself?” Miss Farlow 
was puzzled. / 

“I was thinking,” Anne explained. “My 
eyes were half-shut and — it was the way 
the light was shining — I could see us all 
from our chins down in the shiny desk. 
Then I thought, suppose all the mirrors 
in the world were broken so we could never 
see our faces ! We’d never know whether 
we were ourselves or one of the other girls — 
we’re so exactly alike, you know. And I 


130 


HONEY-SWEET 


thought how funny it would be not to know 
whether you were yourself or some one else, 
and maybe comb some one else’s hair when 
you meant to get the tangles out of your 
own — and I laughed out loud.” 

Miss Farlow did not smile. ‘‘What a 
queer, foolish thing that was for you to 
think!” she said. “I will not punish you 
this time, since you did not mean to be 
naughty. But if you do such a thing again, 
I must take away your Saturday afternoon 
holiday.” 

That would be a severe punishment, for 
the girls dearly loved the freedom of the 
long Saturday afternoons. From early din- 
ner until teatime, they amused themselves 
as they pleased, indoors or on the ‘Home’ 
grounds, under the general oversight of a 
pupil-teacher. 


CHAPTER XIV 


One Saturday afternoon in July, while the 
other girls were playing and chattering on 
a shady porch, Anne slipped with Honey- 
Sweet through a hole in the hedge and 
sauntered toward an old brown-stone house 
set in spacious grounds near the ‘Home.’ 
Anne had long been wanting to explore 
the place. She had never seen any one 
there — the house was closed for the sum- 
mer — and in her stories it figured as an 
enchanted castle. As she walked ankle- 
deep in the undipped grass under the ca- 
talpa and elm-trees, she looked around with 
eager interest. 

She liked everything about the place, 
even the clump of great rough dock which 
had grown up around the back door. A 
frog hopped under the broad leaves as she 


132 


HONEY-SWEET 


passed. She almost expected to see it come 
forth changed to a fairy. Of course she 
didn’t believe in fairies now, but this 
looked like a place where they would stay 
if there were any. 

At last she wandered toward a great 
clump of boxwood near a side gate. It 
made such a mass of greenery that Anne 
pulled aside a branch to see if it were green 
inside too. She gave a gasp of delight. 
The tall, close-growing stems were thickly 
leaved on the outside and bare within ; 
in the centre there was a hollow space, like 
a little room. There must be fairies, after 
all, to make such a beautiful place as this. 

Anne pulled aside a branch and crept in. 
One might have passed a yard away and 
never suspected that she was there. After 
a while, she put Honey-Sweet down and set 
to work as a tidy housekeeper should. 
With a broom of twigs, she swept up the 
dead leaves. Then she went out and pulled 
handfuls of grass to make a carpet, which 


HONEY-SWEET 


133 


she patterned over with blue stars of peri- 
winkle. For chairs she brought two or three 
flat stones. How time flew ! While she 
was looking for green moss to cover these 
stones, she was startled to see the sun 
setting, a red ball on the horizon. She 
hurried back to the ‘Home.’ As she slipped 
through the hedge, Emma, the pupil- 
teacher in charge, hurried across the yard. 

“Where on earth have you been, Anne ?” 
she asked crossly. “The supper-bell rang 
long ago. I’ve looked for you everywhere. 
Where’ ve you been, I say?” 

“Over there,” Anne answered, nodding 
vaguely toward the lawn. 

“Out of bounds !” exclaimed Emma. 
“You knew better, Anne. That you did. 
You come straight to Miss Farlow. She 
was dreadful worried when I told her I 
couldn’t find you.” 

Miss Farlow, too, reproved Anne sharply. 
She was to have a bread-and-water supper, 
and then go straight to bed. And she 


134 


HONEY-SWEET 


must never again go out of bounds alone — 
never. That was strictly forbidden. 

Anne ate her bread and drank her water 
with a downcast air. She was not thinking 
about the scolding and her punishment. 
She was troubled because Miss Farlow had 
forbidden her to go off the ‘ Home ’ grounds 
again. Must she give up her dear secret 
playhouse ? She and Honey-Sweet had 
had such a good time ! And they were 
planning to spend all their Saturday after- 
noons there. Finally she asked Emma 
what would be done if she disobeyed Miss 
Farlow and went outside bounds again. 

Emma knew and answered promptly and 
cheerfully. She would be whipped, and 
that severely. 

Anne turned this over in her mind. She 
was very much afraid of the rod which had 
seldom been used to correct her — but a 
whipping did not last long, after all, and it 
would be far worse to give up her beautiful 
new playhouse. If Miss Farlow wished to 


HONEY-SWEET 


135 


whip her for going there, why, Miss Farlow 
would have to do it. Grown-up people had 
to have their way. But she wondered if 
Miss Farlow would not just as lief whip her 
before she went as after she came back. It 
would be a pity to spoil the beautiful after- 
noon with expectation of punishment. 

After prayers next Saturday morning, 
Anne lingered near Miss Farlow’s desk. 

‘‘Do you wish to speak to me, Anne 
Lewis asked that lady, frowning over a 
handful of bills. 

“ If you please — wouldn’t you as soon 
— won’t you please whip me before I go out 
of bounds ?” she requested. 

“What’s that you’re saying, Anne Lewis ? 
What do you mean ?” asked Miss Farlow. 

Anne explained. 

“Pity sake!” the bewildered lady ex- 
claimed. She looked at Anne over her 
spectacles, then took them off and stared 
as if trying to find out what kind of a queer 
little creature this was. “Do you mean,” 


136 


HONEY-SWEET 


she inquired solemnly, ‘‘that you’d rather 
be a bad girl and go out of bounds and be 
whipped — rather than be good and stay in 
bounds ? ” 

“If you please, Miss Farlow.” Anne 
stood her ground bravely though her knees 
were shaking. 

“Anne Lewis, if whipping will not make 
you obey, we must — must try something 
else,” Miss Farlow said severely. She con- 
sidered awhile, then she asked: “Why are 
you so anxious to go out of bounds ? ” 

Anne went a step nearer. “It isn’t far,” 
she said. “Just across the hedge. It’s a 
secret. A beautiful place. I take Honey- 
Sweet — she’s my doll — and we play sto- 
ries. It’s just my private property.” 
Anne used the words she heard often from 
the larger girls. 

“You mean that you play it is,” Miss 
Farlow corrected gravely. “You don’t get 
in mischief — or go where it’s unsafe ? ” 

‘‘Indeed I don’t. Miss Farlow,” said 


HONEY-SWEET 


137 


Anne, earnestly. ‘‘I just sit there and play 
with Honey-Sweet.” 

‘‘It’s safe and near, and the Marshalls 
are away — they wouldn’t care,” consid- 
ered Miss Farlow. “I’ll allow you to go 
there this one afternoon. Tell Emma I say 
you may play beyond the hedge.” 

Anne skipped away with a radiant face. 
On hearing her message, Emma scowled 
and said : “ I think you oughtn’t to have 
any holiday at all for making so much 
trouble last Saturday. ^I could have cro- 
cheted dozens of rows on my mat while I 
was looking for you. I tell you what, 
missy, if you’re naughty and disobedient, 
you’ll be sent away from here.” 

“Sent where. Miss Emma ?” asked Anne. 

“Oh, away. Back where you came 
from,” answered Emma. 

Anne ran away, happier than ever. Being 
sent away, then, was the “ something else ” 
that Miss Farlow said they must try if she 
were naughty and disobedient. “Back 


HONEY-SWEET 


13S 

where she came from!” That meant to 
Miss Drayton and Pat. Anne resolved 
that she would be very naughty so they 
would send her away as soon as possible. 
That evening she began to carry out her 
plan and let a cup fall while she was wash- 
ing dishes. Jane, who was helping her, 
looked frightened, but Anne only smiled. 
That was one step toward Miss Drayton, 
During the days that followed, Anne was a 
very naughty girl. She came late to break- 
fast, with rough hair and dangling ribbons ; 
she tore her aprons; she rumpled her frocks ; 
her usually tidy bed was in valleys and 
mountains ; her tasks were neglected or 
ill done. She was reproved ; she was pun- 
ished. But she accepted each reproof and 
punishment calmly. 

‘‘Next time,” she thought, “they will 
think I am bad enough to send me away — 
back to dear Miss Drayton.” 

The punishment she disliked most was 
that on Saturday afternoon, instead of 


HONEY-SWEET 


139 


being allowed to go out, she was sent to her 
room in disgrace. She was sitting doleful 
by a window, neglecting the task assigned 
her, when Milly came in. Milly was one 
of the larger girls who went out as a seam- 
stress. 

‘‘You kept in, ain’t you ?” she said, 
sitting down and beginning to make 
button-holes. 

Anne nodded. 

“What’s come over you ?” Milly asked. 
“You don’t act like the same girl you used 
to be. Why, you’re downright bad.” 

Anne smiled knowingly. “ That I am,” 
she agreed. 

“How come Milly inquired. 

; Anne hesitated, then she poured out the 
whole story. ‘ She wanted so much to go 
back to Miss Drayton. And didn’t Milly 
think she was ’most bad enough now ?’ 

Milly threw back her head and laughed 
till’she cried. 

“Oh, you Anne! you Anne!” she 


140 


HONEY-SWEET 


exclaimed. At last she got breath 
enough to explain that Emma had only 
said that because she was provoked. It 
was not true. Anne would not be sent 
away. Indeed, there was nowhere to send 
her. Miss Farlow took charge of her and 
would keep her because there was no one else 
to care for her. She would stay there till 
she was large enough to go out and work 
for herself, as Milly did. 

Anne was much disappointed. She had 
set her heart on going back to Miss Dray- 
ton. Still it was disagreeable to be naughty 
and In disgrace all the time. Louise used 
to say, too, that no one loved naughty girls, 
and Anne loved to be loved. She didn’t care 
to be large If she had to make dresses like 
Milly, when she went away from the ^ Home.’ 
She did hate to sew ! She cried a little 
while, then she washed her face, brushed 
her hair, learned the hymn set her as an 
afternoon task, and went down-stairs to 
tea, a meek, well-behaved girl again. 


CHAPTER XV 


The weeks went by, one as like another 
as the blue-clad children. A September 
Saturday afternoon found Anne, withHoney- 
Sweet clasped in her arms, in a secluded 
corner near the boundary hedge. She had 
told Honey-Sweet all the happenings of the 
week — that she was head in reading, 
that she would have cut Lucy down in 
spelling-class if the girl next above her had 
not spelt ‘ scissors ’ on her fingers — that 
Miss ’Liza had not found a wrinkle in her 
bed-clothes all the week. She cuddled and 
kissed Honey-Sweet to her heart’s content, 
crooning over and over her old lullaby : — 

“ Honey, honey ! Sweet, sweet, sweet ! 

Honey, honey! Honey-Sweet!’’ 

Then she wandered into her world of 
‘make believe.’ Once upon a time, there 


142 


HONEY-SWEET 


was a fair, forlorn princess on a milk-white 
steed. She was lost in a forest. It was, 
though the princess did not know it, an 
enchanted forest. And there was a cruel 
giant who had seized twenty-seven fair, 
forlorn princesses whom he had made his 
serving-maids. They could be freed only 
by a magic ring worn by a gallant knight 
who did not know about their danger. 
Anne stopped in the middle of her story, 
keeping mouse-still so as not to frighten a 
robin beside the hedge. 

She gave a start when a voice near her 
piped out, ‘‘Tell on, little girl, tell on; I 
like that story.” 

Anne looked around. No one was in 
sight. 

“If you don’t tell on. I’ll cry. Then 
mother will punish you,” said the shrill 
little voice. 

Anne stood up and looked all about. At 
last she discovered the speaker. He was 
a small boy who had climbed a low-branch- 


HONEY-SWEET 


143 


ing apple-tree on the other side of the 
hedge. A smaller boy was walking beside 
a white-capped, white-aproned nurse at a 
little distance. Anne had made believe 
that the brown-stone house was the castle 
of the wandering knight who was to return 
and rescue the enchanted princesses. It 
had been closed all the summer and Anne 
was surprised and grieved to see now that it 
was open and occupied by everyday people. 

As his command was not obeyed, the 
small boy made good his threat and wailed 
aloud. The white-capped nurse came run- 
ning to him. 

‘‘What is the matter. Master Dunlop ? 
Have you hurt yourself on that naughty 
tree ? Til beat it for you. Don’t you 
cry.” 

Dunlop paused in his wailing to say : 
“ It’s that girl over there. She stopped tell- 
ing a story. And I told her to keep on. 
And she didn’t.” 

“ Oh, Master Dunlop ! A-talking to them 


144 


HONEY-SWEET 


charity chillen!” exclaimed the nurse. 
‘‘You’re in mischief soon as my back’s 
turned. Come away, Master Dunlop, come 
along with me and Master Arthur. You’ll 
catch — no telling what.” 

“I’ve had fever,” announced Dunlop, 
proudly. “And I’m not to be fretted. 
Mamma told you so. I won’t go, Martha. 
I’ll cry if you try to make me. I want to 
hear that story. — Tell it, girl,” he com- 
manded. 

“We don’t answer people that speak to 
us like that, do we, Honey-Sweet.^” said 
Anne, turning away. “We’ll go under 
the elm-tree in the far corner. — And the 
fair, forlorn princess got off her milk-white 
steed to pick some berries — and whizz ! 
gallop ! off he went and left her. So the 
princess walked on alone through the for- 
est — ” as Anne spoke she was walking away 
from the hedge. 

Dunlop began to scream again. 

Martha spoke hastily. “If you’ll hush, 


HONEY-SWEET 


145 


ni ask her to tell you the story. If you 
scream, Master Dunlop, your mother’ll call 
you in and she’ll make you take a spoonful 
of that bitter stuff.” 

‘‘You call that girl, then,” he commanded. 

Martha raised her voice. “Little girl, 
oh, little girl ! — I don’t know your name. 
Please come back.” 

Anne paused, but did not turn her head. 

“This little boy has been ill,” Martha 
continued. “He’s just getting over fever. 
And he’s notiony. Won’t you please tell 
that story to him ?” 

Anne walked slowly back. “I do not 
mind telling him the story,” she answered 
with grave dignity. “I’m always telling 
stories to the girls. But he must ask me 
proper. I don’t ’low for to be spoken to 
that way.” 

“Martha said ‘please’ to you,” mum- 
bled Dunlop, digging his toe in the turf. 

“You want me to tell the story,” said 
Anne. 


146 


HONEY-SWEET 


There was a brief silence. 

^‘ril cry,” he threatened. 

‘‘I don’t have to keep you from crying,” 
said Anne, with spirit. ‘^Come on, Honey- 
Sweet.” 

‘‘Please, you little girl,” said Dunlop, 
hastily. 

“And the princess walked on and on,” 
continued Anne, as if the story had not 
been interrupted. “The low briers tore 
her dress, the tall briers scratched her hands 
and pulled her hair. It was getting da-a-rk 
so she could hardly see the path. Then all 
at once she saw a bright light ahead of her. 
It got brighter and brighter and it came 
from a little cabin in the woods.” 

And in the happy land of ‘make believe’ 
Anne roamed until the tea-bell called her 
back to the real world. 

Where, meanwhile, were Anne’s old 
friends. Miss Drayton and Pat ? Let me 
hasten to assure you that Pat was not so 
unmindful of his little adopted sister as 


HONEY-SWEET 


147 

he seemed. He hated to write letters and 
never wrote any except the briefest of 
duty letters to his father and his Aunt 
Sarah. He took it for granted that the 
separation from Anne was only for a time. 
She could not come to a boys’ camp and she 
would have to attend a girls’ school. Later, 
she would be with them — father, Aunt 
Sarah, and himself. Of course she would, 
always. Mother had said she was his 
adopted sister. And she was a jolly dear 
little thing. 

Miss Drayton knew better. She was dis- 
turbed at learning from one of Mr. Patter- 
son’s brief, matter-of-course letters that 
Anne had been sent to an orphanage. If 
she had known the plan beforehand, she 
would have had Anne sent to her. But 
as the step was taken, she accepted it and 
Anne slipped out of her life. 

Pat had a jolly summer. Camp River- 
view was on New River, where, a clear 
mountain stream, it begins its journey to 


148 


HONEY-SWEET 


the ocean. The boys’ tent was pitched on 
a level, grassy glade with rolling hills, 
cleared or wooded, behind it. Across the 
river rose rocky bluffs where dwarfed oaks 
struggled for a foothold. There were seven 
boys in the camp and the wholesome young 
man who had them in charge was like a big 
brother. There were two or three hours 
of daily study in which the boys were 
coached for their autumn examinations. 
The remainder of the day was free for sport 
— boating, fishing, swimming, tramps, and 
rides. One good time trod on the heels of 
another. 

The boys took walking tours through the 
picturesque country, following the narrow, 
roundabout mountain roads, or scrambling 
up steep paths, or making trails of their 
own. They visited Mountain Lake, set 
like a clear, shining jewel on the mountain- 
top. They climbed Bald Knob and gazed 
down on lovely valleys and outstretched 
mountains, range rising beyond range. Time 


HONEY-SWEET 


149 


fails to describe the varied pleasures and 
interests of the holiday, the close of which 
sent Pat, brown and sturdy, to Woodlawn 
Academy. There he remained until the 
passing days and weeks and months brought 
again vacation time. In June his father 
would return from Panama, and after a few 
weeks at home Pat was to go with his Aunt 
Sarah to the Adirondacks. 


i 


CHAPTER XVI 


But we must go back to Anne, whom we 
left telling fairy tales to an audience across 
the hedge. A rainy afternoon a few days 
later, a trim nurse-maid brought a note to 
Miss Farlow. It was from Mrs. Marshall 
who lived in the brown-stone house next 
door, asking that a little girl whose name 
she did not know, a child with a big rag 
doll called Honey-Sweet, might come to 
spend the afternoon with her children. Her 
little boy, just recovering from typhoid 
fever, was peevish at being kept indoors. 
He begged to see the girl who had enter- 
tained him a few days before by telling 
fairy tales. A visit from her would be 
a kindness to a sick child and an anxious 
mother. 

‘Ht is Anne Lewis that is wanted,’’ said 


HONEY-SWEET 


151 

Miss Farlow. “I don’t know about letting 
her go. Visiting interferes with the daily 
tasks. I think it better not to — ” 

‘‘Please’m,” entreated the bearer of the 
note, hastening toward off a refusal, ‘‘do, 
please’m, let the little girl come. He’s 
that fractious he has us all wore out. And 
he do say if the little girl don’t come he’ll 
scream till night.” 

“Why doesn’t his mother punish him ?” 
asked Miss Farlow. 

“Punish him! Punish Dunlop!” ex- 
claimed Martha, in amazement. 

“Oh, well ! the child’s ill. I suppose I 
must let her go,” Miss Farlow consented 
reluctantly. Anne was sent up-stairs to 
scrub her already shining face, to brush 
her already orderly locks, to take off her 
gingham apron and put on a fresh dimity 
frock. She returned to the office, twisting 
her hat-ribbon nervously. 

“If you please. Miss Farlow,” she said ap- 
pealingly, “Honey-Sweet — my baby doll. 


152 


HONEY-SWEET 


you know — was in the note, too. Mayn’t 
I take her with me 

Miss Farlow nodded consent and Anne 
tripped away with Honey-Sweet in her 
arms. What a contrast ‘Roseland’ was 
to the ‘Home’ next door ! Anne followed 
Martha across a great hall with panelled 
walls and glass-knobbed mahogany doors 
and tiger-skin rugs on a well-waxed floor. 
Martha led the way up broad, soft-carpeted 
stairs and turned into a room at the right. 
What a charming nursery ! It was a large 
room with three big windows, which had a 
cheerful air even on this gray, bleak day. 
It had soft, bright-colored rugs and chintz- 
cushioned wicker chairs. There was a dado 
of Mother Goose illustrations on the pink 
walls. And there were tables and shelves 
full of picture-books and toys of all kinds. 

Dunlop stood in the middle of the room, 
frowning, with hands thrust in his pockets. 
He had just kicked over a row of wooden 
soldiers with which his small brother was 


HONEY-SWEET 


153 


playing and the little fellow was crying 
over their downfall. 

‘‘Martha ! thanks be that you’ve come !” 
exclaimed the maid in charge. ^ 

“Here she is ! here she is !” cried Dunlop. 
“I thought you weren’t coming, girl. You 
were so slow. — I was just getting ready 
to begin to scream,” he warned Martha. 

“How do you do, Dunlop ?” said Anne, 
putting out her hand. 

“ Say ‘ howdy’ and ask your visitor to 
take off her hat,” Martha suggested. 

“You come on and tell me a story,” said 
Dunlop, seizing Anne’s hand. 

She resisted his effort to drag her to a 
chair. “I said ‘how do you do’ to you. 
And you haven’t said ‘how do you do’ to 
me,” she reminded her host. “I want to 
do and be did polite.” 

“Aw ! come on,” persisted Dunlop. 

Anne stood silent. 

The memory of his former encounter 
with her stubborn dignity came back to 


154 


HONEY-SWEET 


Dunlop. He said, rather sullenly, “How 
do you do ? and take off your hat. But 
I don’t know your name.” 

“My name is Anne Lewis,” said his guest. 
“And this is Honey-Sweet. I know your 
name. Martha told me. You are Dunlop 
Marshall. Your little brother’s name is 
Arthur. What a soft, curly, white little 
dog!” 

“’At’s my Fluffles,” explained Arthur. 

“Do you know any more stories, Anne 
Lewis ?” inquired Dunlop. “Martha said 
she ’spected you didn’t.” 

“Yes, I do.” 

“How many ?” 

“O — oh! I don’t know. Many as I 
want to make up. I’m playing a story now 
while I wash dishes — this is my dining- 
room week. I pretend that a funny little 
dwarf climbed the beanstalk with Jack — 
and when the giant tumbled down he stayed 
up there in the giant’s castle. Do you want 
to hear that story ?” 


HONEY-SWEET 


155 


“You bet! Tell on,” said Dunlop — 
and then added, as an afterthought, 
“please.” 

“ ‘ Please ! ’ Ain’t that wonderful ^ ” com- 
mented Martha. “Why, you make him 
have manners 1” 

An hour or two later, Mrs. Marshall came 
into the nursery to see the little girl whom 
her son had insisted on having as his guest. 
Martha was serving refreshments — animal 
crackers and cambric tea. 

“Anne has to go at five o’clock,” Dunlop 
explained. “It’s nearly that now. So 
we’re having a party.” 

“ Anne — what is the rest of your 
name, little one?” asked Mrs. Marshall. 

“I know. Let me tell,” exclaimed Dun- 
lop. “She’s named Anne Lewis and she 
lived in a big white house on a hill by the 
river at — at — you tell where, Anne.” 

“‘Lewis Hall,”’ said Anne. 

“You are a Lewis of ‘Lewis Hall !’” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Marshall. “Is it possible? 


156 


HONEY-SWEET 


Was your father — could he have been — 
Will Watkins Lewis ? He was such a dear 
friend of my Bland cousins. I remember 
seeing him at ‘Belle Vue’ when I was a girl. 
I never saw him after he married and settled 
down at his old home. Let’s see. Your 
mother was a Mayo, wasn’t she ?” 

“I am named for her. Anne Mayo 
Lewis.” 

“To think you are Will Watkins Lewis’s 
child ! He is dead ? — and your mother ?” 

“I can’t hardly remember him. But I 
can shut my eyes and see mother. I was 
a big girl — seven when she died.” 

“You poor little thing ! And where have 
you been since ?” 

“In New York with Uncle Carey. He’s 
mother’s brother. Then I was in Paris at 
school. Mr. Patterson brought me back 
to Virginia. I’ve been here ever since.” 

“Dear, dear! Will Watkins Lewis’s 
child!” repeated Mrs. Marshall. “Where 
are all your kins-people and friends 


HONEY-SWEET 


157 

‘‘I don’t know ’bout kinfolks. But I 
have lots and lots of friends,” said Anne, 
brightening. ‘‘All the girls — and the cook 
— and the ’spress man — and there used to 
be Miss Drayton and Pat. And there’s 
always Honey-Sweet,” continued Anne, giv- 
ing her doll a hug. “Oh, I must hurry! 
It’s beginning to strike five — and Miss 
Farlow said five o’clock pre-cise-ly. Good- 
by. And thank you.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


That Saturday afternoon was the first 
of many that Anne spent at the brown- 
stone house next door. The ‘Roseland’ 
family became so fond of her that Mr. and 
Mrs. Marshall talked about adopting her. 
‘It was too important a matter to decide 
offhand,’ Mr. Marshall said; ‘too great a 
responsibility to undertake lightly. They 
would wait awhile. Of course the child 
would like to come.’ 

Mrs. Marshall was sure that she would be 
overjoyed. She asked one afternoon, “How 
would you like to stay with us all the time, 
my dear ?” 

Anne was not prepared to say. “It’s 
lovely to visit you and I always want to 
stay longer,” she responded. She consid- 
ered the question on her way to the ‘ Home, ’ 
and arrived at a positive conclusion. 

158 


HONEY-SWEET 


159 


“I don’t believe I’d like it, Honey-Sweet,” 
she said, — ‘‘ not at all. I like them every 
one and it’s a lovely visiting-place. I’m 
glad I’m going to spend to-morrow night 
there. But Dunlop — he’s much nicer to 
be company than home-folks with.” 

The next day was Christmas Eve. When 
Anne entered the ‘ Roseland ’ nursery, snow 
was beginning to fall, fluttering down in 
big wet flakes. 

r Dunlop, his stocking in his hand, was 
prancing about the room. He wished it 
would be dark and time to hang up his 
stocking — and he did wish it was to- 
morrow morning and time to get his pres- 
ents. He wanted a nail driven in front of 
the fireplace ; he was afraid Santa Claus 
wouldn’t think to look at the end of the 
mantel-piece. His own stocking was too 
small. He had told Santa to bring him a 
football and an express wagon and lots of 
other things. He was going to borrow a big 
fat stocking from the big fat cook. Off he ran. 


i6o 


HONEY-SWEET 


Little Arthur was sitting beside a low 
table on which lay two picture-books, one 
less badly torn than the other, and one of 
his favorite toys, a woolly white dog, now 
three-legged through some nursery mishap. 
Arthur regarded them thoughtfully. He 
had a pencil clenched in his chubby fist and 
on the table before him was a piece of paper. 

“What are you doing, Artie dear?” 
asked Anne. 

He looked up at her with big round blue 
eyes. He was a quiet, good-tempered little 
fellow, now perplexed with serious thoughts. 

“Pm going to hang up all two my socks,” 
he announced. 

“Why, Arthur- boy ! that sounds self- 
ish — not like you,” exclaimed Anne. “You 
don’t want more than your share of Santa 
Claus’s pretty things, do you ? Don’t you 
want him to save some toys and books and 
candies for other little boys ?” 

Arthur followed his own course of thought, 
without regard to Anne’s questions. “One 


HONEY-SWEET 


i6i 


sock is for me,” he said. “I hope Santa’ll 
’member and give me what I asked him.” 

‘‘What did you ask him to bring you, 
honey ?” inquired Anne. 

Arthur looked at her gravely. “Tse 
forgot. Was so many fings. And one 
sock is for Santa C’aus. I’m going to fill 
it all full of fings. A apple. And pop-corn 
balls — Marfa made ’em. And my dear 
woolly dog’s for Santa. Will he care if it’s 
foot’s bwoke ?” 

“But, Arthur darling,” suggested Anne, 
“ I wouldn’t give the woolly dog away. You 
love it best of all your toys.” 

“Yes, I do,” agreed Arthur. “Old 
Santa’ll love him, too. And I’ll give him 
my wed wose. Mamma wored it to her 
party las’ night. Smell it, Anne ; ain’t it 
sweet ? And see here,” — he opened his 
chubby fist. “Fahver give me five cents. 
I’m goin’ to give it to Santa C’aus. And 
tell him to buy him anyfing he wants wif it.” 

Anne hugged him heartily. “You dear, 


M 


i 62 


HONEY-SWEET 


cute, generous, precious darling!” she ex- 
claimed. 

Arthur drew away with sober dignity. 
Anne’s caresses interfered with his serious 
occupation. ‘‘I was w’iting Santa a letter,” 
he explained. ‘‘But I can’t w’ite weal good. 
I’m fwead he can’t wead it. Wouldn’t you 
w’ite my letter, Anne?” he asked, gazing 
doubtfully at his scribbling. 

“That I will. I’ll write just what you tell 
me,” said Anne. “Give me the pencil. 
And you may hold Honey-Sweet while I’m 
writing.” 

This was the letter : — 

“Dear Santa Claus, — I thank you 
for the presents you gave me last Christ- 
mas. I thank you for the presents you are 
going to give me this Christmas. Santa 
Claus, the things in this sock are for you. 
I give you a red rose. And a woolly dog. 
He can stand up if you prop him with his 
tail. And five cents to buy you anything 





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163 


you want. I asked Martha to put out the 
fire so you won’t get burnt coming down 
the chimney. Santa Claus, I wish you and 
Mrs. Santa Claus a merry Christmas. And 
good-by. 

‘‘Your loving friend, 

“Arthur Marshall.” 

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief when the 
letter was sealed and the sock containing 
it and the chosen gifts was hung by the 
mantel-piece. He lay down on a goatskin 
rug and looked into the flickering Are, prat- 
tling about what Santa Claus would say 
when he found the gifts. Presently he 
dropped asleep. 

Twilight fell. From the gray skies the 
snow came down steadily. The small, hard 
flakes tinkled against the window-panes. A 
northeast wind shook the elm-tree branches, 
rattled the windows, and moaned around 
the house. Anne sat staring out into the 
gathering night. How bleak it was ! how 


HONEY-SWEET 


164 

lonely-Iooking ! She shivered and hugged 
Honey-Sweet close. 

‘‘Pm terrible late,” said Martha, bustling 
in and hurrying to draw the curtains and 
light the gas. ‘‘We had to finish putting 
up the greens. And Master Dunlop did 
bother so. Nothing would do but he must 
‘help.’ ‘Help,’ I say! He’s one of them 
chillen that no matter where you turn he’s 
in the way. You shall have tea now. Miss 
Anne. I know you’re starving. And my 
blessed baby’s fast asleep on the floor ! Why, 
Miss Anne 1 You been crying I What’s 
the matter, dear? Did that Dunlop — ” 

“Nobody. Nothing,” said Anne, turning 
her reddened eyes from the light. “Per- 
haps my eyes are sore. Maybe the snow 
hurts them.” 

“Oh, ho 1 You just ought ’a’ been with 
me,” said Dunlop, strutting in. “ I hanged 
a wreath in the parlor window. I did it all 
to myself. Martha she just held it straight 
and mother tied the string. Martha said 


HONEY-SWEET 165 

I bothered. Martha don’t know. Mother 
says I’m her little man. — Come along, you 
old Santa Claus ! Hurry ! Or I’ll come 
up that chimney and take all your toys 
and your reindeers, too,” he shouted up the 
chimney. 

“Don’t, ’Lop,” remonstrated Arthur who 
was sleepily rubbing his eyes and opening 
his mouth, bird-like, for spoonfuls of bread 
and milk. “Don’t talk that way. It’s 
ugly. And Santa C’aus’ll get mad and not 
come. Or he’ll bring you switches.” 

“Mother won’t let him,” blustered Dun- 
lop. “Mother says she told him to bring 
me a heap of things — a gun and a ’spress 
wagon and a engine that runs on a track 
and lots more things. — Say, Anne, is there 
really truly a sure-’nough Santa Claus ? 
George Bryant says there isn’t not. Tell 
me, Anne. Does Santa Claus really come 
down the chimney?” 

“You stay awake and see,” advised Anne. 

“I’m going to. I’m not going to shut — 


i66 


HONEY-SWEET 


my — eyes — all — night — long,” he said 
emphatically. 

‘‘Marfa, don’t put on any more coal,” 
begged Arthur. “I so fwead Santa C’aus’ll 
get burnted.” 

The Christmas saint accepted Arthur’s 
offering in the loving spirit in which it was 
made and there was a letter of thanks in 
the sock around which were heaped more 
pretty things than he had remembered he 
wanted. Dunlop examined his many gifts 
with shrieks of delight. His one regret 
was that he didn’t see Santa Claus — if 
there was a Santa Claus. He knew he 
didn’t go to sleep last night — but he didn’t 
remember anything till Martha was kind- 
ling the fire this morning. 

By Anne’s breakfast plate were several 
dainty packages, — a copy of Little Lord 
Fauntleroy^ a box of dominoes, an embroid- 
ered handkerchief, a box of chocolate 
creams. And Martha gave Honey-Sweet 
pink-flowered muslin for a new dress. 


HONEY-SWEET 


167 


Breakfast passed in wild confusion. 
Martha was imploring Dunlop not to eat 
any more candy or raisins or oranges or figs 
or nuts. ‘^You’ll be sick/’ she said. ‘‘And 
goodness knows, Master Dunlop, you’re 
hard enough to live with best of times when 
you’re well. Do — don’t blow your horn. 
Master Dunlop — or beat your drum — or 
toot your engine — your poor mamma has 
such a headache.” 

Mrs. Marshall protested, however, that 
the dear child must be allowed to enjoy 
his Christmas. “He is so high-strung,” she 
said, “not like ordinary children. He can’t 
be controlled like them. I can’t bear to 
cross him and break his spirit.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Before the early dinner at the ‘ Home, ’ 
Miss Farlow assembled the girls and gave 
them a Christmas talk. Christmas, she 
reminded them, is the time for generous 
thoughts, for kindly memories, for opening 
our eyes to the needs of others and opening 
our hands to aid those needs. There is no 
one so poor, so lonely, that he cannot find 
some one more needy that he may help. 

‘‘Kind friends have remembered you 
this holiday season,’’ she said. “Each 
of you has received gifts. Now I hope you 
want to pass the kindness on. There is a 
negro orphanage in town, and I happen 
to know that its funds are so limited that 
after providing needfuls, food, fuel, and 
clothing, there is nothing left this year for 
Christmas cheer. Aren’t you willing to 

i68 


HONEY-SWEET 


169 


share your good things with those poor 
children ? Won’t each of you bring some 
of your old toys to the sitting-room at four 
o’clock and help fill a Christmas box to 
send the little orphans ? ” 

The children responded eagerly, Anne 
among the first. They hurried to their 
rooms and rummaged busily through their 
boxes and drawers, collecting old dolls, 
ragged picture-books, and broken toys. 

Anne opened her drawer and then shut it 
quickly and sat down dolefully on the bed- 
side, swinging her feet. 

‘^What are you going to give, Anne?” 
asked one of the other girls. 

‘‘Dunno,” was the brief answer. 

A mighty struggle was going on in her 
heart. She had no old picture-books, games, 
nor toys. She had nothing to give — 
unless — except — there were the gifts she 
had received at ‘Roseland’ this morning — 
the shining dominoes, the dainty handker- 
chief, the ribbon-tied candy box, the book 


HONEY-SWEET 


170 

with fascinating pictures and pages that 
looked so interesting. It was so long since 
she had had any pretty, useless things that 
it put a lump in her throat merely to think 
of giving them up. But she had promised 
and she must give something to those poor 
little black orphans. Which of her treasures 
should it be } When she tried to decide 
on any one, that one seemed the dearest and 
most desirable of all. At last in despair 
she gathered all her gifts — dominoes, hand- 
kerchief, book, candy — in her apron, ran 
with them to the sitting-room and dumped 
them on the table before Miss Farlow, with 
‘‘Here ! for the old orphans.’’ 

Miss Farlow opened her mouth but be- 
fore words could come Anne was gone. She 
crouched down with Honey-Sweet between 
her bed and the wall and sobbed as if her 
heart would break. 

“I wouldn’t mind so much,” she ex* 
plained to Honey-Sweet, “ I wouldn’t mind 
so much if I could have taken out one teeny 


HONEY-SWEET 


171 

piece of chocolate with the darling little 
silver tongs. I haven’t had a box of candy 
for months and months. And, oh ! Honey- 
Sweet, I read just three chapters in that 
beautiful book, and now Pll never, never 
know what became of that dear little boy.” 

At teatime Anne, red-eyed and un- 
smiling, met Miss Farlow on the stairs. 

‘‘Ah ! Anne Lewis,” said the lady, look- 
ing over her spectacles. “You are a gen- 
erous child. I only asked and expected 
some old toys. It was generous of you to 
bring your pretty new gifts. But I hardly 
feel that you ought to give away the Christ- 
mas presents your friends selected for you 
to enjoy. I think you’d better take them 
back.” Anne’s face shone like the sun 
coming from behind a cloud. “Instead, 
you can give — oh ! some old thing — give 
that rag doll to put in the box for the little 
orphans.” The sun went under a dark 
cloud. 

“Oh !” Anne faltered. Then she hurried 


172 


HONEY-SWEET 


on: ‘Xan’t no old orphans have Honey- 
Sweet. You keep the dominoes and the 
book and the handkerchief and the candy. 
And they may have my gold beads, too. 
But not Honey-Sweet. I’d rather have 
her than Christmas. There — there’s a 
lonesome spot she just fits in.” 

“You’d rather give away your pretty 
new things than that old rag doll Miss 
Farlow was amazed. 

“A million times !” cried Anne, hugging 
her baby fondly. 

“What a queer child you are, Anne 
Lewis!” said Miss Farlow. “Well, well! 
keep your doll, of course, if you wish.” 

Anne gave her an impulsive kiss. “Thank 
you. Miss Farlow ! You are so good,” she 
said. 

The holidays over, the routine of daily 
life was resumed. The days and weeks 
and months passed, busy with work and 
study. Anne welcomed the mild spring 
days which came at last and allowed out- 


HONEY-SWEET 


173 


of-door games. During the autumn, the 
boxwood playhouse had been a place of 
delight to her and Dunlop and Arthur. 
Now, after a spring cleaning patterned after 
Mrs. Marshall’s, she and Honey-Sweet 
again took up quarters there. 

One Saturday afternoon, however, Dun- 
lop came strutting out in an Indian suit 
which his mamma had just bought him and 
announced that he was ‘‘heap big chief” 
and was going to have the boxwood for his 
wigwam. 

Anne objected. She had found the tree- 
house and it was hers ; the others were to 
play there all they pleased ; but she would 
go straight home unless the boxwood was 
to remain, as it had always been, her 
“private property,” as she proudly said. 

For answer, Dunlop fitted an arrow on his 
bow and rushed in, yelling, “You squaw ! 
This is my papa’s place. You get out of 
my wigwam. Get out, I say.” 

Without a word, Anne gathered up Honey- 


174 


HONEY-SWEET 


Sweet and marched off, with her chin in the 
air. For a whole long week she did not 
come to ‘ Roseland. ’ Worst of all, on 
Saturday she played all afternoon with the 
other girls on the ‘ Home ’ grounds, without 
once looking over the hedge. 

Arthur threw himself into Martha’s arms. 
‘H want my Anne,” he sobbed, ‘H want 
her to come back. ’Lop’s a bad, bad boy 
to make my Anne go ’way.” 

Shortly before teatime, Anne left the 
other girls and without seeming to see any 
one beyond the hedge, sat down just out of 
earshot and began to tell Honey-Sweet a 
story. This was more than could be borne. 
Arthur wailed aloud. 

Suddenly Dunlop broke his way through 
the hedge, stopped just in front of Anne, 
and screamed: ‘‘It’s your old house. You 
come on.” 

Anne looked at him but did not move. 

He stamped his foot. “Please!” he 
shouted fiercely. 


HONEY-SWEET 


175 


‘‘Good and all ? Private property ?” 
asked Anne. 

Dunlop nodded. 

Anne rose. “We better go through the 
gap,” she said in an offhand way. “Miss 
Emma’ll try to have me whipped if we 
break down the hedge.” 

Dunlop trotted by her side in silence. 
As they crossed the hedge, he slipped his 
grimy hand in hers. “Mamma says we 
are going to the country next week,” he 
announced ; “ and I told her you’d have to 
go, too.” 

Indeed, Dunlop flatly refused to go away 
without Anne. He would not yield to coax- 
ing and he scorned threats. His wishes 
finally prevailed and it was decided that 
Anne should go with them to spend the 
week-end and return to town with Mr. 
Marshall. 

The little party left ‘ Roseland’ one warm 
afternoon in June, and sunset found them 
all dusty and tired. Dunlop, sitting by his 


176 


honey-sweet; 


mother, absorbed her attention. Martha 
was on the seat behind, with Arthur on her 
lap. Anne, beside her, was looking out of 
the window with a puzzled air. The willow- 
bordered river, the meadows and rolling 
hills, had a familiar appearance ; this fresh, 
woodsy, evening fragrance was an odor she 
had known before; surely she had heard 
the names of the stations called by the 
porter. 

‘‘Lewiston!” he shouted at last. 

Anne started. It was her own home 
station. As in a dream, she saw in the twi- 
light the familiar red road shambling over 
the hills, the dingy little station with men 
and boys loafing on the platform, the 
houses scattered here and there among trees 
and gardens. It all came back to her. 
This was the route she and her mother 
had often travelled. A little way oflF was 
the water-tank set in a clump of willows by 
the roadside. ‘ Lewis Hall ’ was on the hill 
just beyond. In the deepening twilight. 


HONEY-SWEET 


177 


she could not see the square house among 
the trees. 

A great longing for home possessed her. 
She slipped past Martha dozing with Arthur 
asleep in her lap ; hardly knowing what she 
did, she ran to the rear of the car. The train 
was about to stop at the tank. Anne put 
her hand on the door-knob. It resisted. A 
lump came in her throat. Again she tried 
the knob. This time it yielded to her 
pressure. She stepped on the platform and 
closed the door behind her. As the train 
jerked and stood still, she almost fell but 
she quickly recovered herself and scrambled 
down the steps. 

She stood in a well-remembered thicket 
of willows. A few steps away was a foot- 
path — how it all came back to her ! — 
winding among the willows. Clasping 
Honey-Sweet close, Anne walked a little 
way down the path. Then she turned and 
looked back. The train was puffing and 
panting, lights were gleaming from its 


178 


HONEY-SWEET 


windows. There sat Mrs. Marshall, coax- 
ing Dunlop, and there was Arthur cuddled 
in Martha’s lap. 

As Anne looked, the train moved slowly 
away, gathering speed as it went. Its lights 
gleamed and faded in the darkness. It 
was gone. She gazed after it, with a queer 
tightness about her throat. Then she 
walked steadily down the footpath, across 
the meadow, through a gate, and along 
the hillside. On top of that tree-clad 
hill was her old home. From one well- 
remembered room, flickered lights that 
seemed to beckon and summon the home- 
sick child. 


CHAPTER XIX 


Meanwhile, Anne was the innocent cause 
of trouble between Pat and his father. Mr. 
Patterson came back in the early summer 
to spend a few weeks with his son at the old 
home in Georgetown before midsummer 
heat drove them to mountains or sea- 
shore. 

The mansion was a roomy, old-fashioned 
house which his grandfather Patterson had 
built when Georgetown was a fashionable 
suburb of the capital. As Washington 
grew, fashion favored other sections, and 
the stately homes of Georgetown were 
stranded among small shops and dingy 
tenements. Some old residents, the Pat- 
tersons among the number, clung to their 
homes. 

Mr. Patterson had been little at home 


179 


i8o HONEY-SWEET 

since his wife’s death. Every nook and 
corner of the house, her pictures on the 
walls, her books on the shelves, her easy- 
chair beside the window, called her to mind. 
How lonely and sad he was ! His son was 
little comfort to him in his loneliness. Ex- 
cept on their ocean voyage, Pat and his 
father had not been together for three years 
and they had grown apart. Pat was no 
longer just a merry little chap, ready for a 
romp with his father. He was a tall, over- 
grown lad, absorbed in the sports and work 
of his school-world, at a loss what to say 
to the silent, reserved business man who 
made such an effort to talk to him. 

One day, as they sat together at a rather 
silent dinner, a sudden thought made Pat 
drop his salad fork and look up at his father. 
“When is Anne coming, father ?” he asked. 
“Where’s her school ? and when is it 
out?” 

“Anne? Anne who?” asked Mr. Pat- 
terson, blankly — for the moment for- 


HONEY-SWEET 


i8i 


getful of the child who had been a brief 
episode in his busy life. 

‘‘Why, Anne Lewis, of course — our little 
Anne,” said Pat. 

“Oh, that child,” answered Mr. Patter- 
son, carelessly. “ She is in an orphan asylum 
in Virginia. I put her there the week we 
landed.” 

Pat started to his feet. “In an orphan 
asylum?” he gasped. He knew asylums 
only through the experiences of Oliver 
Twist, and if his father had said “in jail,” 
the words would not have excited more 
horror. 

“Of course,” replied his father, viewing 
his emotion with surprise. “That was 
where she belonged. We couldn’t find any 
of her own people. Why, son ! You didn’t 
expect me to keep her, did you ?” 

“Mother intended that. She said Anne 
was my — little — sister.” The boy found 
it difficult to speak. 

“Your mother! If she had lived — but 


i 82 


HONEY-SWEET 


without her — be reasonable, Pat. How 
could you and I — we rolling stones — 
take charge of a little girl ? And now — ” 
‘‘There is Aunt Sarah,” interrupted Pat, 
refusing to be convinced. “Or school. I 
thought you had her in boarding-school like 
me. Where is she 

Mr. Patterson was just going to tell 
Pat about Anne and her whereabouts. 
But now he was provoked that his son put 
the question, not as a request, but as a 
demand. He spoke sternly. “You for- 
get yourself, Patrick. It is not your place 
to take me to task for pursuing the course 
that I thought proper in this matter. We 
will drop the subject, if you please.” 

“But, father, Anne — ” 

“Patrick!” Mr. Patterson interrupted. 
“Either sit down and finish your dinner 
quietly or go to your room.” 

Pat turned on his heel and went up-stairs, 
but not to his chamber. Instead, he made 
his way to a little attic room with a dormer 


HONEY-SWEET 183 

window. There was a couch which his 
mother had covered with chintz patterned 
in morning-glories, his birth-month flowers. 
The book-shelves and the chest for toys were 
covered with the same design, applied by 
her dear hands. How many a rainy Sun- 
day afternoon his mother and he had spent 
in this den, reading and talking together ! 
In the months since his mother’s death, he 
had never missed her as he did now — in 
these first days at home. There was no 
one to take away the loneliness. Aunt 
Sarah was with Cousin Hugh. And now 
Anne was away — not just for a time but 
for always. There was no one left but his 
father, who seemed like a stranger and 
whom — he said it over and over to himself 
— he did not love. 

The boy threw himself face downward on 
his couch and sobbed as he had not done 
since the first days after his mother’s death. 
Where was Anne ? Was she with people 
who were good to her ? If only he had 


184 


HONEY-SWEET 


written to her long ago ! F ather would have 
sent the letter, or given the address. He 
had begun a letter telling about a big base- 
ball game but he had blotted it ; it was in 
his portfolio still, unfinished. Poor little 
Anne ! The tears came afresh. He could 
see his mother stroking Anne’s fair hair, as 
she had done one day when^he was teasing 
about Honey-Sweet. 

‘‘My son,” the gentle voice had said, 
“you must be good to our little girl. Re- 
member, she has no one in the world but 
us.” 

Dear little Anne ! What a jolly playmate 
she was, — brave, good-tempered, affection- 
ate ! and what a generous little soul ! How 
she always insisted on dividing her fruit 
and candies with him when he devo/ured 
his share first. 

An hour passed. Mr. Patterson came 
up-stairs, went from his room into Pat’s, 
and then walked down the hall. 

“Pat!” he called. “Patrick!” The 


HONEY-SWEET 185 

voice sounded stern but really its under- 
tone was anxiety. 

Pat did not speak. He scrambled to his 
feet and descended the stairs. With set 
mouth and downcast eyes, he stood before 
his father. 

‘‘Did I not tell you to go to your room, 
Pat 

“Yes, father.” Pat paused in the door- 
way. “I want to know where Anne is,” 
he said. 

“Patrick!” Mr. Patterson spoke sternly 
now. “You forget yourself strangely to ad- 
dress me in this way. I refuse to answer.” 

He turned on his heel and left his son. 
And he left a breach between them which 
the days and weeks widened instead of 
closing. Pat, feeling that it would be useless 
to question his father any more, did not 
mention Anne’s name again. He picked up 
his old comrades and went walking, swim- 
ming, and canoeing, keeping as much away 
from his father as possible. Mr. Patterson 


i86 


HONEY-SWEET 


busied himself with office affairs, looking 
forward with relief to the end of the so- 
longed-for vacation. In a few days, Miss 
Drayton would join them to take Pat with 
her to the Adirondacks. 

At this very time. Miss Drayton, too, was 
bearing about a disturbed heart. She was 
fond of Anne and had always regretted her 
being sent to an orphanage, but the feeling 
was not strong enough to make her reclaim 
the child. Anne’s uncle was a criminal, 
after all, and she herself had a strange secret. 
How could she have acquired those jewels 
but by theft ? Miss Drayton shrank from 
the responsibility of such a child. Perhaps 
the strict oversight of an asylum was best 
for her. 

This course of thought was abruptly 
changed by the receipt of a letter forwarded 
from Washington to the Maryland village 
where Miss Drayton was visiting. It was a 
many-postmarked much-travelled letter, that 
had journeyed far and long before it reached 


HONEY-SWEET 


187 


her. Mailed in Liverpool, it was sent to 
Nantes, in care of the American consul. 
It had been held, under the supposition 
that the lady to whom it was addressed 
might come to the city and ask for mail 
sent there for safe keeping. Finally, the 
unclaimed letter was sent to the American 
embassy at Paris. There it tarried awhile. 
Then it fell into the hands of a secretary 
who knew Miss Drayton, and he sent the 
letter to the Washington post-office, re- 
questing that her street and number be 
supplied. 

This was done, and the ten-months-old 
letter reached Miss Drayton one July after- 
noon. She glanced curiously from the 
unfamiliar handwriting to the signature. 
Carey G. Mayo. Anne’s uncle ! 

With changing countenance, she read the 
letter hastily. 

Then she re-read it once and again. 


i88 


HONEY-SWEET 


‘^Liverpool, England, 

“20 September, 1910. 

“Miss Sarah Drayton, 

“Dear Madam, — I write to you on 
the eve of leaving the city, to commend my 
niece to your care. You have been so good 
to the child that I venture to hope you will 
care for her till I can relieve you of the 
burden. She has no near relative and I 
am in no position to hunt up the cousins 
who might take charge of her. 

“ I told Anne not to tell you about seeing 
me till you reached Nantes, for by that time, 
if ever, I shall be beyond the reach of offi- 
cers of the law. Please keep her mother’s 
rings that I gave to her, unless it becomes 
necessary to dispose of them to provide for 
her. If I live, I will replace her money that 
I squandered. 

“Will you leave your address for me with 
the consul in Nantes ? For God’s sake, 
madam, do not betray me to the hands of 
the law. I am a guilty man, but I am 


HONEY-SWEET 


189 

putting myself in your power for the sake 
of this innocent child. Be very good 
to her, I implore you. Deal with her as 
you would be dealt with in your hour of 
need. 

Respectfully yours, 
‘‘Carey G. Mayo.” 

This was the secret then, this the mystery. 
How she had misjudged poor little Anne ! 
She would hasten to take the child from the 
asylum and would do all possible to make 
up for the lonely, neglected past. She wrote 
at once to the consul at Nantes, asking him 
to forward to her Washington address any 
letters which came for her. Then she 
hastened her departure to Washington. 

“I came before the time I set,” she said 
to her brother-in-law as soon as they 
were alone together, “because I wish to 
talk to you about Anne Lewis.” Mr. 
Patterson’s brow clouded. “She is in an 
orphan asylum in Virginia, is she not ? We 


190 


HONEY-SWEET 


must get her out. At once. Read this 
letter.” 

Mr. Patterson held the letter unopened 
in his hand. ‘‘The subject is an unpleasant 
one,” he said. “Pve been wanting to tell 
you about a conversation I had with Pat. 
It showed me in a startling way how the boy 
is developing. I don’t know what to do 
with him. In my young days, boys were 
different. We submitted to our fathers. 
A year or two of school and camp life has 
changed my little Pat into a sullen, self- 
willed, unmanageable youngster.” He re- 
peated the conversation between Pat and 
himself about Anne. 

“And you did not tell him where Anne 
is ?” asked Miss Drayton. 

“Certainly not,” replied Mr. Patter- 
son. “His manner was disrespectful. If 
he had asked properly, I should have an- 
swered him. Of course I had no objection 
to telling him.” 

“Ah,” murmured Miss Drayton. “I 


HONEY-SWEET 


191 

hope he didn’t think you meant to keep 
him ignorant of Anne’s whereabouts.” 

course not,” said Mr. Patterson, 
indignantly. 

“ Children get queer little notions in their 
queer little heads sometimes,” said Miss 
Drayton. ‘‘I confess, brother, I think 
you’ve done wrong. And I’ve done wrong. 
We could have given this orphan child a 
home and care — and we did not.” 

Her brother-in-law replied that orphan 
asylums were established to relieve such 
cases. 

Miss Drayton did not argue the question. 
She said softly: ‘‘We failed in the trust 
that Emily left us — our duty to her little 
adopted daughter.” 

Mr. Patterson was silent. He opened and 
read Mr. Mayo’s letter. Then he folded 
it carefully and handed it back. “I will 
go to-morrow and get this child from the 
asylum,” he said. 

“Suppose you let me go — with Pat,” 


192 


HONEY-SWEET 


suggested Miss Drayton. ‘‘And, brother, 
talk to him. Explain matters.” 

But he shook his head. “There is noth- 
ing for me to explain. You and I mis- 
understood things. I am sorry we did 
not know all this at first. Then we would 
have acted differently. But it is not for 
Pat to judge my course. I refuse to defend 
myself to a young cub.” 


CHAPTER XX 


‘‘What are you smiling at, Pat?’’ Miss 
Drayton asked her nephew sitting beside 
her in the parlor car. They had passed 
through the tunnel and crossed the beautiful 
Potomac Park and the shining river. Wash- 
ington Monument, like a finger pointing 
skyward, was fading in the distance. 

“What amuses you, Pat?” repeated his 
aunt. 

“Can’t help grinning like a possum,” 
answered Pat, with a chuckle. “Every mile 
is taking us nearer Anne. How she’ll jump 
and squeal ‘oo-ee’ — when she sees us! 
And — look here. Aunt Sarah — ” he 
glanced cautiously around to be sure that 
he was not observed, then opened his travel- 
ling-bag and displayed a doll’s dress — 
blue silk with frills and lace ruffles. “I 


193 


194 


HONEY-SWEET 


bought it in an F Street shop yesterday — 
for Honey-Sweet, you know,” he explained. 
‘‘Gee! It’ll tickle Anne for me to give 
that doll a present. She’ll — ” he whistled 
a bar of ragtime. 

Miss Drayton laughed heartily. The gift 
set aside so completely the lapse of time that 
she could fancy she saw Anne running to 
meet them, her tawny hair flying in the 
wind and Honey-Sweet clasped in her arms. 

According to its habit, the Southern train 
was behind time. Instead of early after- 
noon, it was twilight when Miss Drayton 
and Pat reached their station. Dusk was 
deepening into drizzling night when their 
cab set them down at the gate of the ‘Home.’ 
They were ushered through the prim hall 
into the superintendent’s office. Miss Far- 
low rose from her desk. 

“You are in charge of this institution 
asked Miss Drayton. 

“I am Miss Farlow, the superintendent.” 

“I am Miss Drayton from Washington 


HONEY-SWEET 


195 


City. This is my nephew, Patrick Patter- 
son. We are friends of Anne Lewis.” 

“You have news of her?” asked Miss 
Farlow, starting eagerly forward. 

“News ? We have come to see her — to 
take her home with us — to give her a 
home,” explained Miss Drayton. 

Miss Farlow sank back on her chair, and 
buried her face in her hands. The quiet, 
reserved woman was weeping bitterly. “If 
we only had her, if we only had her !” she 
moaned. “Poor little motherless, father- 
less one ! Oh, it was my fault. I failed in 
my duty. I tried to do right by her. God 
knows I did.” 

“What is the matter ? What do you 
mean ?” Miss Drayton was frightened. 
Was the child dead ? injured ? She dared 
not ask. “Anne — where is she ?” she fal- 
tered at last. 

“I don’t know.” Miss Farlow was re- 
covering her self-control and struggling to 
speak steadily. “She started on a holiday 


196 


HONEY-SWEET 


trip with some friends. On the way she 
disappeared. Absolutely disappeared. No 
one knows where nor when. The nurse 
saw her last at Westcot, a few stations 
from Lynchburg. The train was in the 
city before she was missed.” 

‘‘We will find her. We must,” cried 
Miss Drayton. 

Miss Farlow was hopeless. “Not a stone 
has been left unturned. That was two 
weeks ago. The trainmen were all ques- 
tioned. Telegrams were sent to every 
station. Mr. Marshall has spared neither 
trouble nor expense. No one saw her get 
off. There is no trace of her. None. If 
the earth had opened and swallowed her, 
she could not have disappeared more com- 
pletely. When you came in — strangers — 
and mentioned her name — my one thought 
and hope was that you had found her.” 
Miss Farlow sobbed. “I think of her day 
and night. A little lost child ! homeless ! 
friendless! all alone!” 


HONEY-SWEET 


197 


Don’t, don’t !” Pat put up his hand as 
if to ward off a blow. He hurried from 
the room and crouched down in a corner 
of the cab, staring out into the wet night. 
Somewhere in the darkness — in the rain — 
homeless — friendless — all alone — was lit- 
tle Anne. 

Surely there was some clew that they 
might follow to reach the child. Miss 
Drayton and Pat went to ‘Roseland’ to 
hear the story from Mrs. Marshall’s own 
lips. She could give them no help. She 
and her husband had done all that was 
possible. They would have done this for 
the child’s own sake. They were doubly 
bound to do it for the sake of their 
sons who were heart-broken about Anne. 
Arthur was always begging them to let 
Anne come back to see him. Dunlop un- 
derstood that 'she was lost and refused 
to be comforted. 

Miss Drayton and Pat went into the 
nursery and found the children at supper. 


198 


HONEY-SWEET 


‘‘I know, it’s late, ma’am,” said Martha, 
helplessly ; ‘‘but Master Dunlop he wouldn’t 
let me have it afore. Do eat now. Master 
Dunlop. Here’s this nice strawberry jam.” 

Dunlop took up the spoon, then paused 
to ask, ‘‘Do you reckon Anne has any 
strawberry jam for her supper ?” 

Pat shook his head. 

Dunlop’s lip quivered. “Then I don’t 
want any. Take it away, Martha,” and he 
pushed aside the spoon. 

“Do with Anne wath here,” lisped Arthur. 
“I got her thweater yolled up smooth to 
keep for her. Whyn’t she come?” 

No one could tell him. 

Miss Farlow wished Miss Drayton, ac- 
cording to Mr. Mayo’s request, to take 
charge of the child’s jewels. But Miss 
Drayton refused. 

“You keep them, please,” she urged. 
“If — when Anne comes back, it will be 
to you. She does not know where we are. 
Oh, I cannot bear the sight of those miser- 


HONEY-SWEET 


199 


able jewels,” she exclaimed. ‘‘The mere 
thought of them reminds me how I mis- 
judged our poor child.” 

There was nothing she could do in Rich- 
mond and she hurried back to Washington 
to consult her brother-in-law. How unlike 
the merry journey of the day before was the 
silent, miserable trip ! 

“Don’t take it so hard, dear boy,” Miss 
Drayton said, clasping Pat’s hand which 
lay limp in hers a minute and was then 
withdrawn. “We may find her yet, — well 
and happy.” 

She spoke in a half-hearted way and 
Pat shook his head hopelessly. “She’s 
been gone two weeks,” he said, “and no 
sign of her. I think about her — like that 
woman said — homeless — friendless — all 
alone — a little lost child — in the wet and 
dark, like last night.” There was a mo- 
ment’s silence. Then Pat spoke again : 
“Aunt Sarah, I shall never feel the same to 
father. It is his fault. He ought not to 


200 


HONEY-SWEET 


have put her there. He ought to have 
told me where she was. If he had told me 
when I asked him — that was three weeks 
ago, you know.” ' 

Miss Drayton reasoned, coaxed, en- 
treated. ‘‘Think of your mother, Pat,” 
she said gently. “How you would grieve 
her!” 

“I do think of her,” returned Pat. “She 
would never have acted so. And she would 
never have let father send Anne away.” 

Miss Drayton sighed. Was it not sad 
and pitiful enough to have that poor little 
orphan lost ? Must her dead sister’s hus- 
band be estranged from his only son } 

Pat stood silent while Miss Drayton told 
his father the story of their journey. Mr. 
Patterson listened — surprised at first, then 
vexed. Now and then, he interrupted with 
brief, pointed questions. The answers left 
him anxious, distressed. Presently he took 
off his eyeglasses and put his hand up as if 
to shade his eyes from the light. When the 


HONEY-SWEET 


201 


tale was finished, there was a brief silence. 
A gentle breeze rustled the elm-tree at the 
window. A carriage clattered past. A 
newsboy shouting ‘‘ Papers ! ” ran down the 
quiet street. 

Mr. Patterson dropped his hand. His 
lashes were wet with tears. ‘‘Lord!” he 
said in a broken voice. “ Can I ever forgive 
myself ?” 

Pat started forward with tears in his 
eyes. “Father!” he cried. “Dear — old 
— dad ! We’ll find her yet.” ^ 

Mr. Patterson seized the outstretched 
hand and held it close. “God grant it,” 
he said. “My son, my son!” 


CHAPTER XXI 


Meanwhile, where was Anne ? Was she 
as forlorn and miserable in reality as her 
friends fancied ? Let us see. 

After she slipped unobserved from the 
railway coach, she followed the familiar 
footpath in its leisurely windings across 
meadow and up-hill. It led her to a tumble- 
down fence, surrounding a spacious, deep- 
turfed lawn, with native forest trees — oak, 
elm, and chestnut — growing where nature 
had set them. On the crest of the hill, 
rose a square, old-fashioned house, dear and 
familiar. Home, home at last ! 

Anne pushed through the gate, hanging 
ajar on one hinge, and hurried across the 
lawn. Even in the twilight, she could 
see that the microfila roses by the front 
porch were still blooming — they had been 
in bloom when she went away — and the 


202 


HONEY-SWEET 


203 

Cherokee rose on the summer-house was 
starred with cream-white blossoms. From 
the windows of the old sitting-room, a light 
was shining and Anne hastened toward the 
latticed side-porch which opened into the 
room. As she approached the steps, a lank, 
clay-colored dog came snarling toward her. 
Two or three puppies ran out, barking fu- 
riously. Anne stopped, too frightened to 
cry out. 

The sitting-room door opened and a 
thick-set man in shirt-sleeves came out on 
the porch. He peered into the darkness. 

Who’s that ^ ” he asked. Anne, fearfully 
expecting to be devoured by the yelping 
curs, could not answer. ‘‘Who’s out there, 
say ? ” repeated the man. Anne took two or 
three steps toward the protection of the light 
and the open door. The man answered a 
question from within. “ Don’t know. It’s 
a child,” he said, catching sight of Anne, and 
going to meet her. “Them pups won’t bite. 
Get away. Red Coat. She’ll nip you if she 


204 


HONEY-SWEET 


gits a chance. Come right on in, honey. 
Whyn’t you holler at the gate 

Anne followed the strange man through 
the door that he opened hospitably wide. 
It was and was not the dear room that she 
remembered. There were the four big win- 
dows, the panelled walls, the book-case with 
diamond-paned doors, built in a recess be- 
side the chimney. But where was the gilt- 
framed mirror that hung over the mantel- 
piece } And the silver candlesticks with 
crystal pendants ? And the old brass fender 
and andirons ? And the shiny mahogany 
table with brass-tipped claw feet ? And the 
little spindle-legged tables with their bur- 
dens of books, vases, and pictures i And 
the tinkly little old piano ? And the carved 
mahogany davenport ? And the sewing- 
table, ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl, 
that stood always by the south window } 
And the quaint old engravings and colored 
prints i All these were gone. Instead of 
the threadbare Brussels carpet patterned 


HONEY-SWEET 


205 


with huge bouquets of flowers, there was a 
striped rag carpet. There were a few rush- 
bottomed chairs, a box draped with red calico 
on which stood a water-bucket and a wash- 
pan, a cook-stove before the fireplace, and 
in the middle of the room a table covered 
with a red cloth, on which was set forth a 
supper of coffee, corn-cakes, fried bacon, and 
cold cabbage and potatoes. A fat, freckle- 
faced girl, a little larger than Anne, and 
two boys of about twelve and fourteen were 
seated at the supper-table. Beside the stove 
stood a stout, fair woman in a soiled gingham 
apron. Their four pairs of wide-open, light- 
blue eyes stared at Anne. 

Where you pick up that child, Peter 
Collins ?” demanded the woman, neglecting 
her frying cakes. 

‘‘She jes’ come to the door,’’ responded 
Mr. Collins. 

“My sakes !” exclaimed his wife. “Whose 
child is you ? Whar you come from, here 
after dark, this way ?” 


2o6 


HONEY-SWEET 


“Where’s Aunt Charity ?” asked Anne. 

“Aunt Charity ? Don’t no Aunt Charity 
live here. This is Mr. Collins’s house, — 
Peter Collins. Is you lost ? — Peter, you 
Peter Collins ! I want know who on earth 
this child is you done brung here. You 
always doing some outlandish thing ! Who 
is she 

“How the thunder I know?” muttered 
her husband, pulling at his beard. 

Anne stood bewildered. This was home 
and yet it was not home. Her lips quiv- 
ered, she clasped Honey-Sweet tighter, and 
turned toward the door to go — where ? 
Everything turned black around her, the 
floor seemed to give way under her feet, and 
in another moment she and Honey-Sweet 
were in a forlorn little heap on the floor and 
she was sobbing as if her heart would break. 

“ I want home ! I want somebody ! ” she 
wailed piteously. 

Mrs. Collins sat down on the floor and 
drew the weeping child into her arms. 


HONEY-SWEET 


207 


“Thar, thar, honey ! don’t you cry ! don’t 
you cry!” she said soothingly. “Po’ little 
thing 1 Le’ me take off your hat ! Why, 
yo’ little hands is jest as cold 1 Lizzie, 
set the kettle on front of the stove. Jake, 
you put some wood in the fire. Now, 
honey, you set right in this rocking-chair 
by the stove and le’ me wrap a shawl round 
you. I’ll have you some cambric tea and 
fry you some hot cakes in a jiffy. A good 
supper’ll het you up. I’d take shame to 
myself, Peter Collins, if I was you” — 
she scowled at her husband as she bustled 
about — “a gre’t big man like you skeerin’ 
a po’ little thing like that ! What diff’rence 
do it make who she is or whar she come 
from ? Anybody with two eyes in his head 
can see she’s jest a po’ little lost thing. 
You gre’t gawk, you !” 

“What is I done. I’d like to know ?” in- 
quired Mr. Collins, helplessly. 

[.• Anne had not realized that she was hungry 
until Mrs. Collins set before her a plateful of 


208 


HONEY-SWEET 


hot crisp cakes. The good woman spread 
them with butter and opened a jar of ‘com- 
pany’ sweetmeats, — crisp watermelon rind, 
cut in leaf, star, and fish shapes. While 
serving supper, Mrs. Collins chattered on in 
a soft, friendly voice. 

“I see how ’twas. You knowed this 
place before we come here. We been here 
two year come next Christmas. Done 
bought the place. Fust time any of our 
folks is ever owned land. Always been 
renters and share-hands, movin’ to new 
places soon as we wore out ol’ ones. I tell 
my ol’ man it’s goin’ to come mighty hard 
on him now that he’s got a place of his own 
that’s got to be tooken care of.” 

By this time, the color had come back to 
Anne’s face and she was smiling and strok- 
ing the sleek black-and-white cat that had 
jumped in her lap. 

“What is the little girl’s name, mammy 
asked Lizzie. Having finished her supper, 
she was standing at her mother’s side, staring 


HONEY-SWEET 


209 


with wide eyes at Anne and shyly rolling 
a corner of her apron in her fingers. 

‘‘Sh-sh-sh,” whispered Mrs. Collins. 
‘‘’Tain’t perlite to ask questions. You 
make her cry again. — But, Peter, Pm wor- 
ried to think maybe her folks is missed her 
and lookin’ for her. You have to take the 
lantern presently and go and tell ’em she’s 
here.” 

‘‘Whar is I gwine ? And who I gwi’ 
tell ?” asked Mr. Collins. 

“Peter Collins, you is the most unreason- 
able man I ever see in my life ! You sho 
ain’t goin’ to worry the po’ little thing and 
make her cry again, askin’ all kinds of 
questions. You jest got to hunt up her 
folks. They’ll be worried to death, missing 
a child like this, and at night, too.” 

But Anne was now ready to explain 
cheerfully. “ I haven’t any folks — not 
any real folks of my own now,” she said. 
“Mother is dead and father is dead. Uncle 
Carey got lost, I reckon. I used to live 


210 


HONEY-SWEET 


here. Mr. Patterson took me to a — a 
orphan ’sylum, Mrs. Marshall calls it. The 
name over the door is ^Home for Girls.’ 
This evening I was on the train with Mrs. 
Marshall and I knew the place when we 
came to the water-tank. And I wanted to 
be here. So we came, Honey-Sweet and 
I. I thought the dog was going to bite 
me. 

“You hear that, Peter Collins ex- 
claimed Mrs. Collins. “Now wasn’t that 
smart of her ? She knowed the place and 
got off the train by herself and come right 
up to the house. And Red Coat might ’a’ 
bit the po’ child traipsin’ ’long in the dark. 
You got to shut that dog up nights,” she 
said, as if every evening was to bring a lit- 
tle lost Anne wandering into danger. “To 
think of puttin’ a po’ little motherless, 
fatherless thing in a ’sylum,” she continued. 
“Many homes as thar is in this world ! — Le’ 
me fry you another plateful of nice brown 
cakes, honey, and get you some damson 


HONEY-SWEET 


2II 


preserves — maybe you like them better’n 
sweetmeats. Or would you choose rasp- 
berry jam.^” She had thrown open the 
diamond-paned doors of the bookcase, now 
used as a pantry, and was looking over the 
rows of jars. 

‘‘I couldn’t eat another mouthful of any- 
thing; indeed, I couldn’t,” insisted Anne. 

‘‘I wish you would,” sighed Mrs. Collins. 
‘‘It gives me a feelin’ to see yo’ po’ thin little 
face — no wider’n a knitting needle.” 

Anne laughed. “I ate ever so many 
cakes. They were so good — as good as 
Aunt Charity’s. Please — where is Aunt 
Charity 

“Aunt Charity who?” asked Mrs. Col- 
lins. 

“Our old Aunt Charity and Uncle Richard 
that used to live here.” 

“Oh ! You mean them old darkies. 
They moved away the year we come here. 
They—” 

“Mammy, I want to know her name,” 


212 


HONEY-SWEET 


insisted Lizzie, in an undertone. “And I 
want to see her doll in my own hands.” 

“My name is Anne Lewis,” Anne in- 
formed her. “My doll is named Mrs. 
Emily Patterson but I call her Honey- 
Sweet.” 

“That’s a mighty pretty dress,” said 
Lizzie, admiringly. 

“I made it, all but the buttonholes,” Anne 
answered proudly. “Martha did those.” 

“Do her shoes really, truly come off?” 
asked Lizzie. 

“Yes, they do. And her stockings, too. 
Look here.” 

The two girls played happily together 
with Honey-Sweet until Mrs. Collins de- 
clared that Anne was tired and tucked her 
away with Lizzie in a trundle-bed. 

“I dunno when I’ve set up so late,” 
the good woman said to her husband, as she 
wound up the clock. “ It’s near nine o’clock. 
But one thing I tell you, Peter Collins, 
afore I get a mite of sleep — Nobody’s 


HONEY-SWEET 


213 


going to send that po’ child back to the 
’sylum she’s runned away from. Tain’t 
no use for you to say a word.” 

“Is I said a word ?” asked Mr. Collins. 

“That po’ thing ain’t goin’ to be drug 
back to no ’sylum,” pursued his wife. “ She 
shall stay here long as she’s a mind to — till 
her folks come for her — or till she gets grown 
— or something. And she shall have all she 
wants to eat, sho as my name’s Lizabeth 
Collins. I’ve heard tell of them ’sylums. 
They say the chillen don’t have nothin’ 
to eat or wear but what folks give ’em. 
Think of them with their po’ little empty 
stomachs settin’ waitin’ for somebody to 
think to send ’em dinner ! I’m goin’ to 
make a jar full of gingercakes fust thing in 
the mornin’ and put it on the pantry shelf 
where that child can he’p herself. — Anne, 
uh ! Anne ! — She’s ’sleep. I jest wondering 
if she’d rather have gingercakes or tea-cakes 
dusted with sugar and cinnamon. Peter 
Collins ! I tell you, you got to work and 


214 


HONEY-SWEET 


pervide for yo’ chillen. I couldn’t rest in 
my grave if I thought one of them’d ever 
have to go to a ’sylum. I see you last week 
give a knife to that Hawley boy. — What if 
he was name for you ? — I don’t keer if it 
didn’t cost but ten cent. You’ll land in the 
po’ house and yo’ chillen in ’sylums if you 
throw away yo’ money on tother folks’ 
chillens. — Peter, fust thing in the morning 
you catch me a chicken to fry for that po’ 
child’s breakfast. And remind me — to 
git out — a jar of honey,” she concluded 
drowsily. 


CHAPTER XXII 


The next morning, after Anne insisted 
that she could not possibly eat any more 
corn-cakes or biscuits or toast or fried ap- 
ples or chicken or ham or potato-cakes or 
molasses or honey, Mrs. Collins picked her 
up and put her in a rocking-chair by the 
south window. 

“Now, you set thar and rest,” she com- 
manded, “till Lizzie does up her work and 
has time to play with you. You Lizzie ! 
Hurry and wash them dishes and sweep this 
floor and dust my room and then take the 
little old lady’s breakfast to her. It’s in 
the stove, keeping warm.” 

“Let me help Lizzie,” begged Anne. “I 
know how to sweep and dust and wash 
dishes. We had to do those things — turn 
about, you know — at the ‘ Home.’ ” 


215 


2i6 


HONEY-SWEET 


‘‘You set right still,” repeated Mrs. 
Collins, “and let some meat grow on yo’ 
po’ little bones. I know how they treat 
you at them ’sylums, making you work day 
in, day out. Oh, it’s a dog’s life ! ” 

“But, Mrs. Collins, they were good to 
me, and kind as could be. I didn’t have to 
work so hard. I just did the things that 
Lizzie does.” 

“Uh ! Lizzie ! ” was the response, “that’s 
diff’rent. She’s at home. She works when 
I tell her — if she chooses,” Mrs. Collins 
concluded with a chuckle, for Lizzie had 
dropped her broom and was sitting in the 
middle of the floor pulling Honey-Sweet’s 
shoes and stockings off and on. 

Anne went outdoors presently to look 
around the dear old place. ‘Lewis Hall,’ 
a roomy frame-house built before the Revo- 
lution, was on a hill which sloped gently 
toward the corn-fields and meadows that 
bordered the lazy river beyond which rose 
the bluffs of Buckingham. Back of the 


HONEY-SWEET 


217 


house, a level space was laid out in a formal 
garden. The boxwood, brought from Eng- 
land when that was the mother country, 
met across the turf walks. Long-neglected 
flowers — damask and cabbage roses, zinnias, 
cock’s-comb, hollyhocks — grew half-wild, 
making masses of glowing color. Along the 
walks, where there had paced, a hundred 
years before, stately Lewis ladies in brocade 
and stately Lewis gentlemen in velvet coats, 
now tripped an orphan girl, a stranger in her 
father’s home. But she was a very happy 
little maid as she roamed about the spacious 
old garden on that sunshiny summer day, 
gathering hollyhocks and zinnias for ladies 
to occupy her playhouse in the gnarled 
roots of an old oak-tree. 

When Lizzie came out to play, she and 
Anne wandered away to the fields. There 
was a dear little baby brook — how well 
Anne remembered it ! — that started from 
a spring on the hillside, trickled among the 
under-brush, loitered through the meadow. 


2i8 


HONEY-SWEET 


and emptied into a larger stream that fed 
the river. 

Let’s take off our shoes and stockings,” 
said Anne, tripping joyfully along, ‘^and 
wade to the creek. You’ve been there ^ 
Part of the way is sandy. Your feet crunch 
down in the nice cool sand. Part of the way 
there are rocks — flat, mossy ones. They’re 
so pretty — and slippery ! It’s fun not 
knowing when you are going to fall down.” 

“There’s bamboo-vines,” objected Lizzie. 
“Mother’ll whip me if I tear my dress.” 

“Oh, we’ll stoop down and crawl under 
the vines.” Anne was ready of resource. 
“And we’ll dry our dresses in the sun before 
we go home. Oh, Lizzie ! Look at all 
the little fishes ! Let’s catch them ! Do 
don’t let them get by. Aren’t they slip- 
pery ! Tell you what let’s play. Let’s be 
Jamestown settlers and catch fish to keep 
us from starving. We’ll have our settle- 
ment here by the brook — the river James, 
we’ll play it is.” 


HONEY-SWEET 


219 


“How do you play that ? I never heard 
tell of Jamestown settlers,” said Lizzie. 

“A big girl like you never heard about 
Jamestown settlers!” exclaimed Anne; 
then, fearing her surprise at such ignorance 
would hurt Lizzie’s feelings, she tried to 
smooth it over. “It really isn’t s’prising 
that you never heard ’bout them, Lizzie. 
Mother always said this was such a quiet 
place that you never heard any news here. 
I’ll tell you all ’bout them while we build 
our huts.” 

While Anne told the story of John Smith 
and played she was the brave captain di- 
recting his band, they dragged brushwood 
together and erected cabins. Stones were 
piled to make fireplaces on which to cook 
the fish they were going to catch and the 
corn they were going to buy from the 
Indians. 

“You be the Indians, Lizzie,” suggested 
Anne. “Paint your face with pokeberries 
and stick feathers in your hair. They’re 


220 


HONEY-SWEET 


heap nicer to look at, but I want to be the 
Englishmen and talk like Captain John 
Smith. All you have to say is ‘ ugh ! ugh !’ ” 

The morning slipped by so quickly that 
they could hardly believe their ears when 
they heard the farm bell ringing for noon. 
After dinner, Jake and Peter went by the 
settlement, on their way to the tobacco- 
field, to help build Powhatan’s rock chimney. 
The boys made bows and arrows and be- 
came so interested in playing Indian that 
Mr. Collins came for them. He scolded 
them roundly and said that no boy who 
didn’t work in the tobacco-field would get 
any supper at his house that night. 

‘H’m the play Captain Smith,” laughed 
Anne, looking up at the rough-speaking, 
soft-hearted man; ‘‘but you talk like the 
real captain. ‘I give this for a law,’ he 
said, ‘that he who will not work shall not 
eat.’” 

Mrs. Collins said that night that the 
girls must not play Jamestown settlers any 


HONEY-SWEET 


221 


more. They might get ill or hurt or snake^ 
bit ; and who ever heard of such a game for 
little girls ^ they ought to stay in the house 
and keep their faces white and their frocks 
clean and play dolls. Anne and Lizzie, 
however, teased next day until she relented 
and even waddled down the hill to see their 
settlement. 

‘‘I told them chillen they shouldn’t put 
thar foots in that ma’sh on the branch, get- 
tin’ wet and draggled and catchin’ colds and 
chills,” she explained to her husband. “ But 
they begged so hard I told ’em to go on and 
have a good time. Maybe it won’t hurt 
’em. They’re good-mindin’ gals. And 
I never did believe in encouragin’ chillen 
to disobey you by tellin’ ’em they shouldn’t 
do things you see thar heads set on doin’. 
Don’t be so hard on the boys, Peter, for 
stoppin’ awhile to play. If the Lord hadn’t 
’a’ meant for chillen to have play-time. 
He’d ’a’ made ’em workin’ age to begin 
with.” 


222 


HONEY-SWEET 


The Jamestown colony, like the great 
undertaking after which it was patterned, 
had many ups and downs, — flourishing 
when Jake and Peter could steal off to be 
Indians and new settlers, and then being 
neglected and almost deserted. Anne and 
Lizzie found the most beautiful place to 
play keeping house. On the hillside, there 
were two great rocks, full of the most de- 
lightful nooks and crevices. One of these 
rocks was Anne’s home, the other was 
Lizzie’s. In the moss-carpeted rooms, lived 
daisy ladies, with brown-eyed Susans for 
maids. They made visits and gave dinner 
parties, having bark tables set with acorn- 
cups and bits of broken glass and china. 
They had leaf boats to go a-pleasuring on 
the spring brook where they had wonderful 
adventures. 

Rainy days put an end to outdoor de- 
lights, but they only gave more time for 
indoor games with their neglected dolls. 

After breakfast one rainy morning, Lizzie 


HONEY-SWEET 


223 


asked her mother for some scraps — she 
didn’t want any except pretty ones — to 
make dresses for Honey-Sweet and Nancy 
Jane. Mrs. Collins replied that she had 
no idea of wasting her good bed-quilt and 
carpet-rag pieces on such foolishness as doll 
dresses. But when ten minutes later the 
girls went back to repeat their request, they 
found Mrs. Collins rummaging a bureau 
drawer. Thence she produced two gen- 
erous pieces of pretty dimity, — Honey- 
Sweet’s was buff with little rose sprigs and 
Nancy Jane’s had daisies on a pale-blue 
ground. 

While Lizzie was busy making doll 
dresses, Anne got a book with pictures in it 
and gave forth a story with a readiness that 
amazed Mrs. Collins. 

‘‘Ain’t you a good reader!” she ex- 
claimed. “You read so fast I can’t under- 
stand half you say.” 

“I’m not reading all that,” honesty 
compelled Anne to confess, as she beamed 


224 


HONEY-SWEET 


with pleasure at Mrs. Collins’s praise. ‘‘I 
read when the words are short, and when 
they’re long and the print’s solid, I make it 
up out of my head to fit the pictures.” 

‘‘Ah ! you come of high-learnt folks,” 
said Mrs. Collins, admiringly. “Now, my 
Jake and Peter, they can’t read nothing 
but what’s in the book and that a heap of 
trouble to ’em. And Lizzie here, she’s wore 
out two first readers and don’t hardly know 
her letters yet.” 

Lizzie soon tired of sewing and she and 
Anne pattered off through the halls to the 
bareness and strangeness of which Anne 
could not get used. Where, she wondered, 
were the people in tarnished gilt frames — 
slim smiling ladies and stately gentle- 
men with stocks and wigs — that used to be 
there ? The two girls played lady and 
come-to-see in the bare up-stairs rooms 
awhile. Then Anne said, “Lizzie, I’m go- 
ing up the little ladder into the attic and 
walk around the chimneys.” 


HONEY-SWEET 


225 


“Don’t ! It’s dark up there,” shuddered 
Lizzie. 

“Dark as midnight,” agreed Anne; 
“heavy dark. You can feel it. It’s the 
only place I used to be afraid of. I have 
to make myself go there.” 

“Why?” asked Lizzie. 

“I — don’t just know — but I do. You 
wait here.” She came back a little later, 
dusty, cobwebby, flushed. “I knew there 
wasn’t anything there — in the dark more’n 
the light,” she said. “ I know it, and still I 
just have to make myself not be scared. 
Whew ! It’s hot up there. Lizzie, let’s 
go in the parlor. I’ve not been in there 
yet.” 

“No,” objected Lizzie. “The little old 
lady’s in there — or in the room back of it. 
Them’s her rooms.” 

“The little old lady? who is she?” 
inquired Anne. 

“She’s the one I take breakfast and dinner 
and supper to. She comes here in the 


226 


HONEY-SWEET 


summer and she sits in there and rocks 
and reads.” 

‘‘Doesn’t she ever go out Anne wanted 
to know. 

“Oh, yes ! she walks in the yard or gar- 
den every day. You just ain’t happened 
to see her. We’ve played away from the 
house so much.” 

“What kind of looking lady is she 
asked Anne. 

“Oh, she’s just a lady. Ma says she’s 
mighty hotty. What’s hotty, Anne?” in- 
quired Lizzie. 

Haughty was a new word to Anne. 
But she hated to say “ I don’t know,” and 
besides words made to her pictures — queer 
ones sometimes — of their meaning. “ It 
means she warms up quick,” she asserted. 
“Tell m.e about her, Lizzie. How does she 
look ?” 

“She ain’t so very tall and she’s slim as 
a bean-pole,” said Lizzie. “Her hair’s 
gray and her skin is white and wrinkly. 


HONEY-SWEET 


227 


And she wears long black dresses. That’s 
all I know.” 

‘‘I want to see her. Let’s sit at the head 
of the steps'and watch for her to come out,” 
suggested Anne. 

They sat there what seemed a long time 
but as the little old lady did not appear, 
they finally ran off to play with Honey- 
Sweet and Nancy Jane. 

While they were thus engaged, Mr. Collins 
came from the mill. He shook his dripping 
hat, and hung up the stiff yellow rain-coat 
that he called a ‘slicker.’ 

“I come by the station, wife,” he an- 
nounced. “And what you think ? Thar’s 
a gre’t big sign up, ‘Lost child.’” 

“Sho! Whose child’s lost inquired 
Mrs. Collins. 

“It’s Anne,” was the reply. “The 
printed paper give her name and age and 
all. And it tells anybody that’s found 
her or got news of her to let them ’sylum 
folks know.” 


228 


HONEY-SWEET 


^‘As if anybody with a heart in their 
body would do that!” commented Mrs. 
Collins. ‘‘I bound you let folks know she 
was here. If you jest had sense enough to 
keep yo’ mouth shet, Peter Collins ! That 
long tongue of yours goin’ to be the ruin of 
you yet.” 

‘‘I ain’t unparted my lips,” asserted her 
husband. 

“Now ain’t that jest like a man ?” Mrs. 
Collins demanded of the clock. “ ’Stead of 
trying to throw folks off the track, saying 
something like ‘What on earth’s a lost child 
doing here .^ ’ or ‘ Nobody’d ’spect a lost 
child to come to my house I’ ” 

“I wish you’d been thar, Lizbeth,” said 
her admiring husband. “You’d fixed it 
up. Well, anyhow, I ain’t said a word, so 
don’t nobody know nothin’ from me. All 
she’s got to do is to lay low till this hub- 
bub’s over.” 

In that out-of-the-way place there seemed 
little danger of Anne’s being discovered. 


HONEY-SWEET 


229 


Mrs. Collins, however, made elaborate plans 
for her concealment. 

‘‘Anne,” she said, “would you mind me 
callin’ you my niece Polly 

Anne looked at her in questioning sur- 
prise. 

“If so be people from the ’sylum was to 
look for you, you wouldn’t want to go back 
thar, would you 

“Oh, no! I’d much rather stay here,” 
answered Anne. 

“Bless your heart ! and so you shall,” 
exclaimed Mrs. Collins. “I’ll trim your 
hair and part it on the side and call you my 
niece Polly. And can’t nobody find out 
who you are and drag you back to that 
’sylum. You shall stay here forever.” 

“Goody, goody !” cried Anne. Then she 
said thoughtfully, “I do wish I had some 
of my things from there. It doesn’t matter 
so much about my clothes. Lizzie’s are 
most small enough and I s’pose I’ll grow 
to fit them. But I do wish Honey-Sweet 


230 


HONEY-SWEET 


had her dresses, ’spressly her spotted silk 
and her blue muslin. And there are some 
other things. Uncle Carey said they were 
my mother’s and I don’t want Miss Farlow 
to keep them always.” 

“When you are grown up, you can go 
and get them,” suggested Mrs. Collins. 

“Oh, so I will,” said Anne. “And please, 
may Lizzie go with me ? ” 


CHAPTER XXIII 

A DAY or two later, Anne wandered alone 
into the old-fashioned garden. She had just 
recalled — bit by bit things from the past 
came back to her — a damask rose at the 
end of the south walk that was her mother’s 
special favorite. It was bare now of its 
rosy-pink blossoms and Anne gathered 
some red and yellow zinnias to play lady 
with. The red-gowned ladies had their 
home under the Cherokee rose-bush and 
yellow-frocked dames were given a place 
under the clematis-vine ; then they ex- 
changed visits and gave beautiful parties. 

Presently a slim, black-robed lady saun- 
tered down the box-edged turf walk and 
stopped near Anne. 

“What are you doing, little girl ?” she 
asked. 


231 


232 


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Anne looked up at the lady. ‘‘How do 
you do, cousin ?” she said, scrambling to 
her feet and putting up her mouth to be 
kissed. It was one of the cousins, she knew, 
and it was the most natural thing in the 
world to see her come down the box-edged 
walk to the rose-arbor; but whether it 
was Cousin Lucy or Cousin Dorcas or 
Cousin Polly, Anne was not sure. 

It was Cousin Dorcas and she stared at 
the child for a moment, too amazed to speak. 

“It cannot be little Nancy!’’ she ex- 
claimed at last. “Child, who are you 

“Why, of course, I’m little Nancy,” 
Anne laughed. 

“What are you doing here } Where did 
you come from ?” 

“I am playing flower dolls.” Anne an- 
swered the questions gravely in order. “ I 
got off the train because I wanted to come 
home."^I thought Aunt Charity and Uncle 
Richard were here.” 

Miss Dorcas Read sat down on a rustic 


HONEY-SWEET 


233 


seat and questioned her small cousin until 
she drew forth the story of the child’s wan- 
derings. 

am glad I have found you,” the lady 
said when Anne’s story was finished. ‘‘You 
ought to be with your own people, of course, 
and I am your near kinswoman. Your 
great-grandmother and my grandmother 
were sisters. It is little that I have, but 
that little I shall gladly share with you. I 
must take you with me when I go home 
next week.” 

“Where is your home ?” asked Anne. 

“ In Washington City. I am one of the lit- 
tle army of government clerks,” Miss Dorcas 
explained. “ I come back every summer to 
spend my vacation here. I walk in the dear 
old garden and read the dear old books and 
live again in the dear old days. You do not 
understand now, child ; but some day, if you 
live long enough, you will understand.” 

Lizzie wailed aloud when she learned 
that Anne was to leave ‘ Lewis Hall, ’ and 


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in her heart Anne preferred her old home to 
her old cousin. 

‘‘You shouldn’t never have gone to a 
’sylum,” said Mrs. Collins, wiping her eyes 
with her apron. “But when one of your 
blood-kin lays claim to you, that’s diff’rent 
and I ain’t got no call to interfere. I got 
sense enough to know my folks ain’t like yo’ 
folks. Yours is the real old-time quality 
folks and you ought to be brung up with 
your own kind. Now, we is a bottom rail 
that’s done come to the top. My chillen’s 
got to be schooled and give book-learnin’. 
Some day they’ll forget they was ever any- 
thing but top rails, and look down on their 
old daddy and mammy.” 

“I ain’t, mammy; I ain’t never gwi’ look 
down on you,” declared Lizzie. 

“That’s all right, honey,” answered Mrs. 
Collins. “I want you to be hotty and look 
down on folks. I never could I’arn to do it. 
I was always too sociable-disposed.” 

“No one can ever look on you except 


HONEY-SWEET 


23s 


with respect, dear Mrs. Collins,” Miss Dor- 
cas insisted. “ Certainly, Anne and I shall 
always regard you as one of her best friends. 
She will want to come to see you next 
vacation, if you will let her.” 

‘‘Let her! and thank you, ma’am,” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Collins. “Now I’m going to 
unload them pantry shelves. You shall 
have sweetmeats and jam and preserves and 
pickle for yo’ snacks, Anne, and I want you 
to think of Lizbeth Collins when you eat 
em. 

Before Anne and Cousin Dorcas went to 
Washington, it was resolved that they 
should visit Aunt Charity and Uncle 
Richard, who lived on a plantation eight 
miles from ‘Lewis Hall.’ Mrs. Collins 
doubted the wisdom of the plan, fearing 
lest some of the ’sylum folks on the look- 
out for Anne would be met on the public, 
road. Miss Dorcas, too, was a little uneasw 
It was finally decided that Anne should we^ 
one of Lizzie’s frocks and her sunbonnet ^d 


236 


HONEY-SWEET 


that if they met any one on the road, Miss 
Dorcas was to say in a loud voice, ‘‘Lizzie 
and Anne was to answer, “Yes, ma’am.’’ 

Mr. Collins brought out an old buggy 
with an old horse called Firefly and helped 
Miss Dorcas in, explaining carefully, “This 
ain’t no kicker and it ain’t no jumper. 
It’s jest plain horse with good horse-sense. 
If you don’t cross yo’ lines, you can drive 
him anywhere.” 

“I don’t know much about driving,” con- 
fessed Miss Dorcas. “That is, I’ve been 
driving a great deal but I’ve never held the 
lines. — Whoa! get up, sir!” She gave a 
gurgly cluck, and flapped the lines up and 
down on Firefly’s back, with her elbows high 
in air. Firefly started meekly off on a jog 
trot. Mr. Collins looked after them. 

“Dumb brutes is got heap more sense 
Van humans,” he exclaimed. “ They under- 
\\nds women. Now, Miss Dorcas she’s 
'v^ain’ and geein’ and hawin’ that horse at 
thv same time, but somehow he knows what 


HONEY-SWEET 


237 


she wants him to do and he’s gwine to do 
it.” 

Firefly followed the winding of the river- 
road mile after mile, along meadows, fields, 
and wooded hills, fair in the hazy sunlight. 
How many times Anne had travelled this 
road on visits to the numerous cousins ! 

Firefly turned at last from the highway 
to a plantation road and stopped at a log 
cabin. It was a neat, whitewashed little 
house, with rows of zinnias and marigolds 
on each side of a walk leading from the road. 
Over the door, hung a madeira vine covered 
with little spikes of fragrant white blossoms. 
Charity, in a blue-and-white checked cotton 
gown, with a bandanna around her head, 
was working in her garden beside the house. 

‘‘Don’t speak to her. Cousin Dorcas,” 
whispered Anne. “Let me s’prise her.” 
She jumped lightly out of the buggy and 
ran to Aunt Charity. “Boo !” she said. 

Charity dropped her hoe with a scream. 
“Lawd ’a’ mercy!” she exclaimed, backing 


238 


HONEY-SWEET 


toward the cabin. “My child’s ghost in de 
broad daylight ! ” 

Anne laughed till tears ran down her 
cheeks. “There !” she said, pinching Char- 
ity’s fat arm. “Does that feel like a ghost, 
Aunt Charity 

Charity seized Anne in her arms and 
jumped up and down, exclaiming, “My 
child in de flesh and blood ! my child in de 
flesh and blood!” At last she recovered 
herself enough to “mind her manners” and 
help Miss Dorcas out of the buggy. 

“You all ain’ gwine away a step till you 
eat a snack,” she insisted. “I got a chicken 
in dyar I done kilt to take to church 
to-morrow. Ain’t I glad it’s ready for my 
baby child ! And I’ll mix some hoecakes 
and bake some sweet taters and gi’ you a 
pitcher o’ cool sweet milk. My precious 
baby, you set right dyar in de do’. I can’t 
take my eyes off you any more’n if dee was 
glued to you.” 

A table was set under the great oak and 


HONEY-SWEET 


239 


Charity, beaming with joy, waited on her 
guests. ‘‘Richard ain’t gwi’ forgive hisself 
for goin’ to mill to-day,” she said. “Dunno 
huccome he went, anyway. He could ’a’ 
put it off till Monday. But if you gwi’ 
be at de old place till Chewsday, me an’ him 
will sho hobble up to see you.” 

As the afternoon shadows began to 
lengthen. Miss Dorcas and Anne started on 
their homeward journey. Miss Dorcas 
clucked and jerked the lines, and Firefly 
ambled homeward, now jog-trotting along 
the road, now pausing to nibble grass on 
the wayside. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

All too soon for Anne, came the day that 
was to take her to the city. Generous 
Mrs. Collins insisted on slipping into Miss 
Dorcas’s trunk a liberal supply of Lizzie’s 
clothes, and she gave Anne one of Lizzie’s 
best frocks to travel in and a muslin hat that 
flopped over her face. Disguised in these, 
she was to be smuggled away on a night 
train to prevent her being discovered 
and taken back to the asylum. They were 
the more concerned about the matter be- 
cause Mr. Collins heard at the blacksmith 
shop new inquiries about the lost child. 
Miss Dorcas charged Charity and Richard, 
who trudged the long eight miles to visit 
their ‘‘precious baby child,” not to mention 
having seen Anne. Richard brought on his 
shoulder a great bag full of things “for 


240 


HONEY-SWEET 


241 


Marse Will Watkins’s child” — apples, pop- 
corn, potatoes. For days Mrs. Collins had 
been baking cakes and pies and selecting 
sweetmeats, preserves, and pickles from her 
store. The supplies were so liberal that 
after a barrel was packed and re- 
packed and re-repacked there were almost as 
many things left out as were put in. Mrs. 
Collins wanted to put them in another 
barrel, but Miss Dorcas said that the sup- 
ply already packed would more than fill her 
tiny pantry. 

Mrs. Collins consoled herself as best she 
could. ‘‘Christmas is coming,” she said; 
“ it’s slow but it’s on the way. And when 
it do get here. I’ll send you a barrel packed 
to show you what a barrel can hold.” 

The morning after Anne’s regretful fare- 
well to her old home and her new friends, 
found her eagerly examining her cousin’s 
small apartment in Georgetown. The house 
was a red-brick mansion built for the resi- 
dence of an early Secretary of the Navy, 


242 


HONEY-SWEET 


and now made over into cheap flats. The 
stately, old-fashioned place was surrounded 
by small shops and cheap, dingy houses. 
^‘It makes me think,” Miss Dorcas said 
with a sigh, ‘‘how Jefferson would look 
to-day in a Democratic party meeting or 
Hamilton among modern Republican poli- 
ticians.” 

Anne didn’t know who Hamilton was but 
she thought Jefferson, whose picture hung 
in the sitting-room, looked as if he might 
have lived here. It was a place still full 
of charm. In the rear of the mansion 
was an old-fashioned flower garden with 
box-bordered gravel walks dividing the 
formal beds and leading here to a stone seat, 
there to a broken fountain. In the centre 
of the garden, was a sun-dial which a cen- 
tury before told the shining hours ; now, its 
days went in shadow under the crowding 
trees, — a coffee-tree from Arabia, a mul- 
berry from Spain, and other relics of the 
wanderings of the long-ago secretary. Anne 


HONEY-SWEET 


243 

felt like a bird in a nest as she sat on the 
roomy, white-columned porch overlooking 
the garden, catching glimpses through a 
leafy screen of the broad Potomac and the 
wooded hills of Virginia. 

‘‘Ah ! when the leaves fall it is beautiful, 
beautiful,” said her cousin ; but Anne was 
sure that it could never be more beautiful 
than now, in the green-gold glory of a late 
summer afternoon. 

After a few idle days, Anne was enrolled 
in the city free school. Miss Dorcas 
mourned over the fact that she was unable to 
send her small cousin to a select private 
school, and urged her to study hard, behave 
well, and, above all, never to have anything 
to do with ‘the common herd’ of other 
children. Anne obeyed the last command 
very unwillingly. It would be dreadful to 
be “contaminated,” — which she supposed 
to mean infected with a bad kind of measles, 
— as Cousin Dorcas said she would be if she 
played with her grade-mates ; but it was 


244 


HONEY-SWEET 


hard to sit primly alone instead of joining 
the recess games. 

At first some of the children tried to make 
friends with her but, being met coolly, 
they left her to lonely dignity. 

‘‘It’s goot,” wonderingly explained Albert 
Naumann, a sturdy, blond little German, 
when she refused a bite of the crimson- 
cheeked winesap apple that he offered. 

“Why not.^” asked merry-faced Peggy 
Callahan, when Anne declined her dare to a 
foot-race. “You’re not sick, are you ?” 

“No, indeed!” answered Anne. 

“Oh ! you look sorter like I feel when I’ve 
a pain in my stomach,” said Peggy, running 
off in reply to a playmate’s call. 

Anne looked after her longingly. Peggy 
was a bright, merry, friendly child with 
whom she would have liked to play, but for 
being sure Cousin Dorcas would object. 
Peggy was certainly one of the ‘common 
herd’ — her clothes ragged or patched and 
her person rather dingy. 


HONEY-SWEET 


245 


Anne was lonely. 

‘‘It’s worse than being all by myself,” 
she reflected soberly, “to see the other 
children’s good times and be out of them 
all.” 

She consoled herself as best she could 
with Honey-Sweet, disagreeing stoutly with 
Miss Dorcas who thought that she was too 
large a girl to play with dolls. 

“Honey-Sweet isn’t just a doll — not 
like those in shops,” Anne explained. 
“Dear Mrs. Patterson made her. And 
she’s been everywhere with me. And, 
Cousin Dorcas, she really is useful. I study 
all my lessons with her. That’s how I learn 
them so good — making believe I’m teaching 
them to Honey-Sweet. And she helps me 
keep still. You know you do like me to be 
quiet. Cousin Dorcas.” 

“Yes. I don’t want to seem severe, 
but I cannot bear a noise. I am so worn out 
when I come from the office. It seems each 
day my head aches worse than it did the day 


246 


HONEY-SWEET 


before.” Miss Dorcas sighed. ‘^And if it 
isn’t a downright ache when I come home, 
it begins to pound as soon as I look at this 
book — ” she eyed the account-book open 
before her — ‘‘I hoped you could have some 
new shoes this month. Those are down- 
right shabby. But there isn’t any money 
for them. I don’t see how I am going to 
pay the gas bill unless we stop eating. It 
costs so much to live!” 

‘‘Perhaps Miss Santa Claus will give us 
something,” suggested Anne. 

“Perhaps so,” answered Miss Dorcas, 
absently, poising her pencil above a column 
of figures in her account-book. 

‘Miss Santa Claus’ was the name that 
Anne had given to a gentlewoman in the 
apartment below. Anne had a smiling 
acquaintance with her and was deeply in- 
terested in glimpses of her visitors. Miss 
Santa Claus’s real name was Margery 
Hartman. Her fair hair was growing sil- 
very, but her cheeks were pink and soft 


HONEY-SWEET 


247 


with lingering girlhood and the spirit of 
eternal youth looked from her clear blue 
eyes. She was the district agent of the 
Associated Charities, and worked untiringly 
with kind heart and clear head to aid and 
uplift the poor around her. 

One September afternoon, Anne, running 
upstairs, bumped against the Charities lady. 

‘‘Oh ! I beg your pardon. Miss Santa 
Claus,” she exclaimed. 

The lady laughed. “That’s a new name 
for me,” she said. 

Anne reddened. “It just slipped out. 
I don’t know your other-folks’ name. And 
I call you Miss Santa Claus to myself be- 
cause you are always giving people things. 
I don’t mean to listen,” she explained, “but 
I can’t help hearing them ask you for coal 
and shoes and grocery orders.” 

“You are my little neighbor on the floor 
above, aren’t you ?” asked the lady. 

Anne assented. 

“ It’s a nice name you’ve given me — very 


248 


HONEY-SWEET 


much nicer than my own real name which 
happens to be Margery Hartman. I know 
your name. I heard Albert Naumann call 
you Anne Lewis.” 

‘‘You gave Albert shoes to wear to 
school,” said Anne. 

“Yes. That is my business — to give 
things to people who need them. Kind 
people provide money for me to help the 
poor. Isn’t that good of them ?” 

“It’s very good,” said Anne, earnestly. 
“Do you give them — shoes, I mean — to 
all the children that need them 

“Not all.” Miss Hartman smiled and 
then she sighed. “I wish I could.” 


CHAPTER XXV 


The new acquaintance soon ripened into 
friendship. Miss Hartman grew very fond 
of the quaint, affectionate child and Anne 
said Miss Hartman was ‘‘nice as a book.’’ 
She would tell story after story about the 
children she met in her Charity work and 
then she would sit at the piano and sing old 
songs in a sweet, clear voice of the quality 
that reaches the heart. 

Sometimes Anne went to the Charity 
office and sat mouse-like watching the peo- 
ple who came and went. One Saturday 
afternoon, Peggy Callahan hurried into the 
room, untidy as usual, her eyes shining 
with excitement. 

“Are you the head lady of the Charity ?” 
she asked the lady at the desk. 

Miss Margery answered that she was. 

249 


250 


HONEY-SWEET 


“If you please, ma’am, we don’t want 
to be put away,” Peggy announced. 

“Who wants to put you away ? Tell me 
about it,” said Miss Margery. 

“The folks over there.” The girl nodded 
her head vaguely. “They say as how mom- 
mer can’t take care of us — popper he’s 
got to go to the work’ouse again. He 
wa’n’t so very drunk this time but the judge 
sent him there — mean old thing ! And they 
say mommer can’t take care of us and we’ll 
have to be put away in ’sylums. And we 
don’t want to go. She says if the Charity 
folks will help with the rent, we can get on. 
Don’t none of us eat much and we can do 
with terrible little,” Peggy concluded breath- 
lessly. 

“What is your name ? where do you 
live ? I shall have to see your mother and 
talk to her,” said Miss Margery. 

“My name’s Peggy Callahan and we live 
out that way,” waving her hand northward. 
“There ain’t no number to the house. You 


HONEY-SWEET 


251 


go down this street till it turns to a road 
and you come to a gate marked ‘No Thor- 
oughfare’ and you go straight through it 
and follow the path and you come to a little 
brown house with red roses on the porch. 
That’s our house. Oh ! there’s two with 
roses ! One is a colored lady’s. Ours is the 
one with the so many children.” 

“I know your mother. And I remember 
the place,” said Miss Margery, writing a 
few lines in her notebook. “ I am going out 
that way this afternoon and we will see 
what can be done.” 

“Thank you, lady,” said Peggy, and 
bounded away. 

“I’d better send you home, Anne,” said 
Miss Margery, with a little sigh, “and let 
you go with me some other time. This place 
is a long way off, much farther than I had 
expected to go this afternoon.” 

“Please, Miss Margery, let me go,” 
pleaded Anne. “I never get tired. And I 
do want to go through the ‘ No Thorough- 


252 


HONEY-SWEET 


fare’ gate, and see the little brown house 
with the red roses and the children.” 

Miss Margery hesitated, then consented, 
and she and Anne trudged through the 
dingy suburb of shabby, scattered houses. 

‘‘P’rhaps I oughtn’t to have come,” said 
Anne, rather doubtfully. ‘‘It’s cobble- 
stones. They skin shoes. Cousin Dorcas 
says she doesn’t know where money’s com- 
ing from to buy another pair. I asked her 
if we couldn’t get you to give me some shoes, 
like you do Albert and those other children, 
and it made her cry. She said that would 
be a disgrace. Why, Miss Margery ?” 

“Miss Dorcas does not like to have people 
give her things,” said Miss Margery. 

“But Mrs. Collins gave me a dress and a 
hat and ever so many things. And I need 
shoes. I need them bad as Albert did. If 
I don’t get some pretty soon, I can’t go to 
school. Why mustn’t you give them to 
me?” 

Miss Margery did not undertake to ex- 


HONEY-SWEET 


253 


plain. “Don’t worry about shoes to-day,” 
she said. “Be careful where you walk and 
don’t stump your toes. Those shoes look 
pretty well still. Miss Dorcas crosses 
bridges sometimes before she comes to 
them. Why, there’s Albert Naumann. 
Good-afternoon, Albert. Have you any 
pennies for the saving bank to-day ?” 

“No, madam, lady,” answered Albert. 
“I have no time for to earn the pennies to- 
day. I have for to pick up the coal for mine 
Mutter. It makes the hands to be dirty” — 
looking at his blackened fingers — “but it 
saves the to buy coal.” 

“That is good, Albert,” said Miss Mar- 
gery, heartily, “better than earning pennies 
for yourself. Can you show me where the 
Callahans live } Anne tells me Peggy is 
your class-mate.” 

“Yes, madam, lady,” answered Albert, 
“ it’s the second house on the path back 
of those trees.” 

“There’s the house,” exclaimed Anne, a 


254 


HONEY-SWEET 


few minutes later. I know that’s it. It’s 
little and it’s brown and look at the roses — 
and the children ! It’s like the old woman 
that lived in a shoe.” 

Indeed, the little brown house was over- 
flowing with children. Peggy, with a baby 
in her arms, sat in a broken rocking-chair 
on the porch. Two little girls were mak- 
ing mud-pies near by. A tow-headed boy, 
watched from an upstairs window by two 
admiring small boys, was walking around 
the edge of the porch roof, balancing him- 
self with outstretched arms. A neat negro 
woman, emptying an ash-can in the adjoin- 
ing yard, caught sight of him and shrieked, 
“Uh, John Edward ! is that you on the 
porch roof ? or is it Elmore ? Whichever 
you be, if you don’t go right in. I’ll tell 
yo’ ma. You Bud and tother twin, you 
stop leanin’ out of that window. Peg, uh 
Peg ! thar’s a boy on the porch roof and two 
leanin’ out the window. They all goin’ to 
fall and break their necks.” 


HONEY-SWEET 


255 


The boy on the roof stuck out his tongue, 
and said, ‘‘Uh, you tell-tale !” then walked 
on around the porch and climbed in the 
window. 

“I done it,” he shouted to his twin 
brother. ‘‘You dared me to and I done 
it. Now I double-dare you to climb the 
chimbley.” 

Peggy came out to reprove the reckless 
climber, and then, seeing the approaching 
visitors, came forward to greet them. She 
invited Miss Margery and Anne into the 
front room where her mother sat at a sewing- 
machine that was running like a race-horse. 
Mrs. Callahan shook hands and then took a 
garment from her work-basket and began to 
make buttonholes. 

“My machine makes such a racket,” she 
explained, “I always keep finger jobs for 
company work. There’s so many fact’ries 
nowadays that Keep-at-it is the only sewin’- 
woman that makes a livin’. You’d be 
s’prised to see how much Peggy helps me. 


HONEY-SWEET 


256 

She can rattle off most as many miles as me 
on that old machine in a day.” 

Peggy tells me you are in trouble, Mrs. 
Callahan,” said Miss Margery, coming 
directly to the cause of her visit. 

‘‘Well, not exactly. Nobody ain’t dead 
or sick,” Mrs. Callahan answered cheerfully. 
“ I told Peggy to tell you we could do with a 
little help. Pa — that’s my old man — 
he’s the best man that ever lived, ma’am. 
He’d never do nothin’ wrong. It’s just 
the whiskey that gets in him. He’s kind 
and good-tempered and hard-workin’ — 
long as he can let liquor alone. It’s made 
him lose his place.” 

“Our books show that you had help from 
the Charity office last winter,” Miss Mar- 
gery reminded her. 

“Yes’m,” responded Mrs. Callahan, “that 
was after his Christmas spree. The man 
might ’a’ overlooked that. But he got 
mighty mad. Some bad boys, they see pa 
couldn’t take care of the dray and they stole 


HONEY-SWEET 


257 


some things offn it. Pa he couldn’t get a 
job right away and I couldn’t keep up my 
reg’lar sewin’ — the baby just being come 
— and so pa was up before the judge for 
non-support. And the judge made him 
sign the pledge for a year. Pa tried to keep 
it, ma’am, but his old gang wouldn’t let him. 
They watched for him goin’ to work and 
they watched for him cornin’ from work. 
He’d dodge ’em and go and come diff’rent 
ways. But they’d lay for him here and 
there, with schooners of beer in their hands. 
Next thing, he was drunk. The cops didn’t 
catch him that time. But the pledge bein’ 
broke, look like he give up heart. He kept 
on with the drink, and lost his job. Then 
the policeman nabbed him.” 

Mrs. Callahan did not tell that the 
drunken man had struck her and that the 
children — seeing her fall to the floor as if 
dead — ran out screaming, and that the 
frightened neighbors called a doctor and a 
policeman. She made the tale as favorable 


253 


HONEY-SWEET 


to ‘pa’ as she could. She went on to say 
that, having broken the pledge, he was sent 
to the workhouse for sixty days and she 
was left without money, with seven children 
to care for. 

“They want me to put the children away 
to the ’sylums, but we want to stay together, 
ma’am. We can get on elegant with a little 
help with the rent and a teenchy bit grocery 
order now and then. Mine is helpful 
children, ma’am, and t’ain’t as if they were 
all little. Peggy’s near ’leven though she’s 
small for her age. And even them twins, 
ma’am, they pick up sticks for kindlin’ 
and help in ways untold.” 

“What have you to eat in the house 
asked Miss Margery. 

“There’s some potatoes, ma’am. They’re 
mighty filling when they’re cold.” 

Miss Margery knit her brows and con- 
sidered. There were many calls on the 
limited fund at her command. “The money 
from the workhouse for your husband’s labor 


HONEY-SWEET 


259 


will pay the rent,” she calculated. “I will 
give you a small grocery order twice a week. 
You can manage with that V’ 

‘‘Oh, yessum, splendid, and thank you 
kindly, ma’am,” said Mrs. Callahan. “ Don’t 
put down meat — just a little piece onct a 
week so’s not to forget the taste. And a 
leetle mite coffee. Put in mostly fillin’ 
things — rice and beans and dried apples. 
You got to cram seven hearty children. 
Thank’e, thank’e, ma’am. Peggy, give the 
little lady some roses, the purtiest ones 
where the frost hasn’t nipped ’em.” 

While Miss Margery talked with Mrs. 
Callahan, Anne was getting acquainted 
with the children. She chattered gleefully 
about them on her homeward way. “Peggy 
says a lady her mother sews for gave 
them a lot of clothes. Peggy has a pink 
velvet waist and a red skirt, and her mother 
has a lace waist and a blue skirt with rows 
and rows of blue satin on it. They’re very 
int’resting children. Miss Margery, but do 


26 o 


HONEY-SWEET 


you think they always tell just the very 
exact truth ?” asked Anne. 

‘‘Fm afraid they do not. Vm afraid 
their mother doesn’t set them a very good 
example,” answered Miss Margery who 
knew the Callahans of old. 

‘‘Peggy says it isn’t harm to tell a fib 
that don’t hurt anybody,” said Anne. 

“I hope you told her it was.” 

“Yes, Miss Margery. I told her we 
thought it was low-down to tell stories. And 
Peggy just laughed and said they wouldn’t 
act so stiff as to tell the truth all the time. 
— Miss Margery, when are you going there 
again ? I do want to go with you. The 
baby has a new tooth coming. You can 
feel it. I want to see it when it comes 
through. May I go with you another Sat- 
urday ?” 

“Perhaps.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


Two weeks passed. Peggy or John Ed- 
ward or Elmore came duly on Wednesdays 
and Saturdays for the grocery orders and 
reported that the family was getting on 
“elegant” or “splendid.” One Friday 
afternoon, a neighbor of the little brown 
house flounced into the office. 

“It’s my dooty to come to you, lady,” 
said Mrs. Flannagan, “and I does my 
dooty when it’s hard on other folks. You 
wouldn’t give me a bit of groceries last week, 
but they tell me you rain down grocery or- 
ders on Mrs. Callahan, and she spendin’ 
money like she was President Bill Taft or 
Johnny Rockefeller.” 

“What do you mean, Mrs. Flannagan } 
Please explain,” said the long-suffering 
Charity lady. 


261 


262 


HONEY-SWEET 


‘‘I mean this/’ said Mrs. Flannagan. 
‘‘With my own two eyes I seen ’em yestiddy 
afternoon — Mrs. Callahan and them four 
biggest children walkin’ dc wn the street 
like a rainbow in silk and satin and lace, 
goin’ past my house ’thout lookin’ at me 
any more’n I was one of them cobblestones. 
‘Good-day,’ I says, and Mrs. Callahan says, 
says she, ‘Good-day. It’s Mrs. Flannagan, 
ain’t it ?’ — like she hain’t been in and out 
of my house these two years ! ‘Whar’s 
the kittle-bilin’ of you goin’ to-day?’ I 
asked, and she tosses her head and says, 
says she, ‘Oh, it don’t agree with the chil- 
dren’s health to stay at home so dost. 
I’m takin’ ’em on a ’scursion down the 
river to see the shows.’ And they ain’t 
come back till dark, for I sat at my front 
window to see. There’s where your Charity 
money goes, ma’am.” 

Miss Margery sighed as her informer 
flaunted away. She must look into the 
matter before giving any more grocery 


HONEY-SWEET 


263 


orders, and if Mrs. Callahan was really 
wasting money, as Mrs. Flannagan declared, 
the Charities’ aid must be withdrawn. 

The next morning, Peggy entered the 
office, her usually smiling face very sober. 
Before Miss Margery had time to mention 
excursions and grocery orders, Peggy made 
a request. 

‘‘If you please’m, lady,” she said, “mom- 
mer says won’t you give us a help with the 
rent ^ It’s due to-day and we’re three dol- 
lars short.” 

“Didn’t officer McFlaerty bring the 
money from your father on Monday?” 

“Yessum, lady,” confessed Peggy. 

“Your mother told me she would put 
that aside for the rent — every cent of it — 
and that it would leave her lacking only 
one dollar of the rent money. Now you 
say she is three dollars short. Peggy, I 
am afraid your family has been wasting 
money.” The Charity lady spoke severely, 
mindful of Mrs. Flannagan’s tale. Peggy 


264 


HONEY-SWEET 


did not answer. She looked embarrassed, 
and twisted her toe under a loose strip of 
matting. Miss Margery continued, after a 
pause, “Mrs. Flannagan told me that you 
went on an excursion Thursday.” 

Peggy brightened and dimpled. “Yes- 
sum, lady. We told her we was a-goin’. 
It made her so mad. I wisht you could ’a’ 
seen her flirt in and slam her door.” Peggy’s 
merry laugh pealed forth. “And we told 
her we was a-goin’ to the shows, too.” 

“Peggy! do you think I ought to help 
you with the rent when you are wasting 
money on excursions and shows .^” Miss 
Margery frowned on Peggy’s mirth. 

“Oh! why, ma’am!” Peggy seemed 
amazed that it was necessary to explain. 
“We didn’t go to no shows or no ’scur- 
sions. We weren’t thinkin’ ’bout goin’ . 
That was a lie. It was just to make Mrs. 
Flannagan mad. She put on so many airs 
’bout goin’ street-car-ridin’ last Sunday.” 

“You really didn’t go?” Miss Margery 


HONEY-SWEET 


265 


asked. ‘‘But Mrs. Flannagan says you 
passed her house — five of you — dressed 
for the excursion.” 

“Yessum, lady,” Peggy agreed, dimpling. 
“I wisht you could ’a’ seen us. It cert’ny is 
nice livin’ when you can wear fussy-fixy vel- 
vet and silk clothes and lacey waists. John 
Edward and Elmore, bein’ boys, couldn’t 
get no good of them, so we give John Ed- 
ward the little lace-flounced umberill to 
carry and Elmore a painted open-and-shut 
fan. — Them’s the things the lady give us 
where mommer sews for,” she explained, in 
answer to Miss Margery’s bewildered look. 
“We went to see her like she asked us. 
’Twas too far for the baby and Bud and Lois 
to walk, so we left them with Mrs. Mooney 
— she’s the nice colored lady next door. We 
wisht they could ’a’ gone. Mrs. Peckinbaugh 
gave us sandwiches and lemonade and little 
icin’ cakes and street-car tickets to ride home 
on. I never did have such a good time. 
Oh,” Peggy laughed merrily, “and when we 


266 


HONEY-SWEET 


came back by Mrs. Flannagan’s, I said out 
loud ’twas most too cool on the boat up the 
river and John Edward he asked if the 
monkeys wasn’t cute!” 

‘‘Peggy, Peggy, my child!” said Miss 
Margery. “Don’t you know it’s sinful to 
tell lies ?” 

“ Yessum — lies that hurt folks. Them’s 
little white lies. They don’t do no harm.” 

“There aren’t any white lies, Peggy. 
They are all black. It is wrong, it is sinful, 
to tell a falsehood. Remember that, my 
child,” Miss Margery urged. “Always 
speak the truth.” 

“Yessum, lady.” Peggy’s brow was un- 
clouded and her clear blue eyes looked 
straight into the clear blue eyes of the 
Charity lady. “Can I tell mommer you’ll 
come ? or can’t you give me the money } 
She’s awful worried.” 

“I do not understand,” said Miss Mar- 
gery. “ I know she had that money for the 
rent.” 


HONEY-SWEET 


267 


‘^Did she, ma’am ?” Peggy looked sur- 
prised, then suggested, I ’spect she lost it. 
She keeps the rent money in a china mug on 
the mantel-piece, and this might ’a’ been 
paper money and blowed in the fire and got 
burnt up.” 

Miss Margery looked unconvinced. ‘‘Tell 
your mother I’ll come there this afternoon,” 
she said. Peggy, with an engaging smile, 
tripped away. 

Anne was delighted to learn that another 
visit was to be paid to the Callahans. She 
ran home to get Honey-Sweet. 

“ I told them about her and they want to 
see her,” she said. “ I think she’s taller than 
the baby. Oh ! I hope that cunning baby 
has another tooth.” 

Miss Margery paused a moment at the 
door of the Callahans’ neighbor, the ‘ nice 
colored lady.’ “Do you happen to know,” 
she inquired, “where Mrs. Callahan was 
last Thursday afternoon 

“She was visitin’, lady,” was the ready 


268 


HONEY-SWEET 


answer. “ She took the biggest children to 
see a lady she sews for that’s give them 
a lot of things. I had them three youngest 
children under my feet all afternoon. Not 
but that I was glad to mind them for her to 
go visitin’, for she’s a splendid lady and 
they’re real lovely children. She’s to 
home now. The sewin’-machine’s been rat- 
tlin’ since daylight.” 

‘‘I cert’ny am glad to see you at last, 
lady,” said Mrs. Callahan, with rather an 
offended air, when Peggy and John Edward 
and Elmore and Susie ushered in the visitors. 

I been lookin’ for you to bring me that rent- 
money. I told the agent’s young man he 
should have it early this afternoon.” 

did not promise to let you have any 
money, Mrs. Callahan.” Miss Margery’s 
tone was crisp and firm. ‘‘On Monday 
you had all your rent-money except one 
dollar. You said you expected to get that 
this week for sewing.” 

“I ain’t got no sewin’ money,” said Mrs. 


HONEY-SWEET 


269 


Callahan. “The lady she couldn’t make the 
change and she told me to come back Mon- 
day. That’s why I had to send and ask 
you to lend me the loan of three dollars.” 

“But it was one dollar you needed for 
the rent, Mrs. Callahan,” said Miss Mar- 
gery, resolved to get to the bottom of the 
matter. 

“Well, I did have two dollars but I had 
to spend it,” said Mrs. Callahan. “I was 
thinkin’ I could get it somehow. And I 
knew you could let me have it. Ain’t that 
what the Charity’s for ?” 

That was what many of the ^ poor things ’ 
thought. Miss Margery knew to her regret, — 
that the Charity was merely a reservoir for 
the wasteful and the thriftless to draw from 
at will. Could it ever be, she wondered, what 
it ought to be, — a crutch to be cast aside 
with regained health, a hand of brother- 
hood to lift the fallen and teach them to 
stand alone, to steady the weak and make 
them strong ? How hard it was to give help, 


270 


HONEY-SWEET 


and at the same time to teach the poor to 
be self-helpful ! Miss Margery sighed, but 
she knew it was useless to argue the matter, 
so she only answered reprovingly, ‘‘I fear 
you have wasted money, Mrs. Callahan. 
A neighbor told me you had been off with the 
children on an excursion.” 

When Mrs. Callahan dimpled and chuc- 
kled as she did now, she looked like Peggy’s 
older sister. ‘‘Peg told me Mrs. Flannagan 
went to you with that tale. I cert’ny did 
fool her. Why, Miss Margery, I ain’t been 
on no more ’scursions than this old machine 
settin’ here. When I took Mrs. Peckin- 
baugh’s sewin’ home, I carried the children 
with me, like she told me, for her to see how 
Pd fixed the clothes she give me. She give 
us a reception like the president’s, — sand- 
wiches and lemonade and iced cakes and 
street-car fare back home. I laugh every 
time I think how I fooled Mrs. Flannagan. 
I told her that bundle of sewin’ was our 
lunch and wraps. And she fool enough 


HONEY-SWEET 


271 


to believe me !” Mrs. Callahan laughed till 
tears stood in her eyes. 

‘‘Mrs. Callahan, aren’t you ashamed to 
tell falsehoods — and before your little 
children, too ? How can you expect them 
to believe you ? And how can you expect 
them to tell the truth when you set them 
such an example ?” 

“Why, I wouldn’t tell a lie to harm any- 
body for the world,” said Mrs. Callahan. 
“But there wouldn’t be no fun in livin’ if 
you didn’t tell white lies.” 

Miss Margery saw that it was useless to 
protest. “I think I ought not to give you 
any money, Mrs. Callahan,” she said, ris- 
ing to go. “You had it in your hand and 
you spent it. If we give in such cases as 
this, we will not have funds to meet real 
need.” 

“If you must know,” said Mrs. Callahan, 
“ I lent them two dollars to the colored lady 
next door. Her rent was due on Wednes- 
day and she’ll get the money for her wash 


272 


HONEY-SWEET 


to-night. I told Peggy not to tell you, for 
you’d told me so partic’lar not to spend a 
cent of that money — but if you must know, 
you must. She was needin’ it worse than 
me. 

“Is this the truth asked Miss Margery. 

“It’s the gospel truth, ma’am,” declared 
Mrs. Callahan. “You ask Mrs. Mooney, 
ma’am.” 

As the two women promised faithfully to 
repay it on Monday, Miss Margery lent the 
lacking rent-money and then rose to go. 

Meanwhile, Anne and Honey-Sweet were 
the centre of an admiring group. Anne 
allowed the little Callahans one by one to 
touch Honey-Sweet and the older ones were 
even permitted to hold her for a minute. 

As Honey-Sweet made the rounds of the 
group, she was followed admiringly by the 
beadlike, black eyes of Lois, the second 
from the baby. She put out her chubby 
hand and solemnly touched the doll’s dress 
with her fingertip, saying over and over, 



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HONEY-SWEET 


273 


‘‘Pretty sweet Honey ! pretty sweet 
Honey When Miss Margery said they 
must go, Lois caught Anne’s frock in her 
little fat hands and lisped, “Don’t go 
away, sweet Honey. Stay here two, five 
minutes.” 

Miss Margery smiled and patted the 
tangled curls. “It is getting late, dearie, 
and we must hurry home,” she said. 

But Lois followed them down the path, 
crying, “Wait, lady, wait.” She smiled up 
into Anne’s face. “I dess want kiss sweet 
Honey one time,” she said. “I ain’t done 
kiss her yet.” Then she pressed her lips 
on the lace-rufHed flounces and toddled 
back to the house. 


CHAPTER XXVII 

Several weeks passed during which Miss 
Margery saw nothing of the Callahans. Mr. 
Callahan came back from the workhouse 
and, wdth fear of another term before his 
eyes, he managed to keep away from his 
old comrades and to provide for his family. 
Anne saw Peggy at school and, with Cousin 
Dorcas’s permission, talked to her some- 
times in recess and kept informed as to how 
many teeth the baby had and the new words 
Bud could say. All the children had bad 
colds, Peggy said one day, ‘‘terrible bad, 
and the doctor he says mommer must keep 
the windows open and she lets ’em stay 
up while he’s there to pleasure him and 
shuts ’em soon as he goes away.” 

The next day and for several days there- 
after, Peggy was absent from school. Anne 


274 


HONEY-SWEET 


275 


looked eagerly forward to Saturday when 
she was to put on her old shoes — she had 
new ones now — and go with Miss Margery 
to inquire about the little Callahans. 

Friday afternoon, however, brought Peggy 
to the door, asking for Anne. It was an 
anxious-faced Peggy. I ain’t been to school 
’cause Lois is sick,” she explained. “She 
been sick all week and she gets no better all 
the time. And she keeps on frettin’ to see 
that doll of yours. She been talkin’ ’bout 
it ever since you was there. And she say if 
she can just see that doll — she don’t ask to 
touch it — she’ll take her medicine. That’s 
why she’s so bad off. She won’t take her 
medicine. And mommer sent word to 
know, won’t you please come over and 
bring your doll for her to see.” 

“What is the matter with Lois ?” asked 
Miss Dorcas. 

“Doctor says she’s threatened with the 
pneumony and she’s terrible bad off,” said 
Peggy. 


276 


HONEY-SWEET 


As Miss Margery was not at home, Miss 
Dorcas herself went with Anne and Honey- 
Sweet to see the sick child. They walked 
down the dingy street, took short cuts across 
vacant lots, passed through the ‘No Thor- 
oughfare’ gate, and followed the straggling 
path that led to the little brown house. 

Their knock at the door was followed by 
a scrambling and scampering within, and a 
hoarse wail from Lois. Then a window 
was raised, a little face peeped out, and a 
relieved voice said : “ ’Tain’t the doctor- 
man. It’s Honey-Sweet’s girl and a lady.” 

Peggy opened the door. “Come right 
in,” she said. Then she explained: “We 
was tryin’ to get Lois back in bed. The 
doctor says she must stay in bed and she 
hates it, so she will get up and have a pillow- 
pallet on the floor.” 

There the child was lying, tossing rest- 
lessly about, while Mrs. Callahan’s machine 
rattled away as usual. 

Lois gave a cry of delight when Anne 


HONEY-SWEET 


277 


came in with Honey-Sweet. ‘‘Pretty sweet 
Honey !” she exclaimed. “Le’ me kiss her 
one time.” 

“You wait,” said Mrs. Callahan. “That 
dolly ain’t coming nigh you till you take 
your dost of medicine. Then I’ll ask the 
lady to let her lay on the pillow.” 

Lois looked inquiringly at Anne. 

“Take your medicine like a good girl,” 
said Honey-Sweet’s little mother, “and I’ll 
let you hold my baby doll in your own 
hands.” 

Lois opened her mouth to receive the 
bitter draught and then stretched out her 
arms for Honey-Sweet. She touched shoes 
and dress and hair with light, admiring 
fingers. 

“Pretty sweet Honey,” she murmured. 

Mrs. Callahan breathed a sigh of relief. 
“That’s the first dost of medicine we’ve got 
her to take to-day,” she said. “We’ve all 
been tryin’ to worrit it down her. We’ve 
give her everything in the house she fancied. 


278 


HONEY-SWEET 


Pa he paid her a bottle of beer to take a 
spoonful last night. Bless you, no’m” — 
even in her distress she laughed at Miss 
Dorcas’s shocked look — ‘^she didn’t drink a 
drop of it. She likes to see it sizzle, and 
she had him pull off the cap and let it foam 
and drizzle on the floor.” 

would whip her,” said Miss Dorcas, 
drawing her mouth down at the corners. 

‘‘No’m, you wouldn’t,” said Mrs. Calla- 
han, ‘‘not if you was her mother and she sick. 
But it do worrit me awful. These two days 
I been pourin’ out a spoonful of her medicine 
every two hours — time she ought to take 
it — and a-throwin’ it away. It’s a dread- 
ful waste. But I got to do something to 
make the doctor think she’s took it. It 
makes him so mad when she don’t.” 

Miss Dorcas exclaimed in dismay. “Aren’t 
you afraid the child will die if she doesn’t 
take the medicine 

“Yessum, I am. But what can I do ?” 
said Mrs. Callahan. “I try to get her to 


HONEY-SWEET 


279 

take it every time she ought to have a dost. 
And what’s the use of worritin’ the doctor if 
she won’t ? It makes him so mad.” 

Lois, meanwhile, was having a happy 
time with Honey-Sweet. Anne showed how 
her shoes came off and on and untied her 
cap to display her curls. ^‘Here’s how she 
goes to sleep at night,” she said. “I put 
her to bed by me and I sing to her : — 

‘ Honey, honey ! Sweet, sweet, sweet ! 

Honey, honey ! Honey-Sweet ! ^ ” 

As she crooned the lullaby, Lois lisped it 
after her. 

It grew late and Miss Dorcas rose to go. 

‘‘If you’ll take your medicine to-night, 
like a little lady,” said Anne, “we will come 
back to see you to-morrow — Honey-Sweet 
and 1. Mayn’t we. Cousin Dorcas ? — Oh, 
oh ! if you cry, we can’t come ! Will 
you promise to take your medicine ?” 

“I take it now if pretty Honey stay,” 
said Lois. 

“No, no ! it isn’t time now. But if you 


HONEY-SWEET 


2*'8o 

take it at the right time, we’ll come back, 
and Honey-Sweet may lie on the pillow be- 
side you.” 

The next afternoon, Anne brought Honey- 
Sweet, dressed in a blue muslin frock and a 
new hat that Miss Margery had made of 
lace and rosebuds and blue ribbon. 

Lois’s face beamed when she saw this 
finery. ‘‘Can I kiss her dwess ?” she 
asked, gulping down the bitter draught. 
“Bad medicine gone now. Oh, the pretty 
flowers !” and she counted on her fingers 
the rosebuds on Honey-Sweet’s hat: “One, 
two, free, five, seben, leben, hundred beauty 
flowers.” 

Mrs. Callahan was, as she said, ‘flus- 
tered.’ Her thread snarled and snapped as 
she sewed on buttons. “Doctor was here 
after you left yestiddy,” she said. “You’d 
’a’ thought he’d been at that window peekin’ 
in. He didn’t believe me at all when I told 
him Lois was takin’ her medicine reg’lar. 
He says she’s gettin’ worse every day since 


HONEY-SWEET 


281 


Choosday, and if she don’t take her medicine 
reg’lar, he can’t do her no good. She took 
it two — three times after you left with me 
a-tellin’ her ’bout that beauteous doll that 
was cornin’ to-morrow. But she’s little and 
to-morrow looked slow in cornin’, so after 
’while when I’d hold out the spoon, she’d 
just shake her head and say, ‘No, no, no ! 
Mammy tellin’ story ! Sweet Honey ain’t 
cornin’.’” 

“It is as I told you it would be, Mrs. 
Callahan,” said Miss Margery. “Your 
child doesn’t trust you. You have told 
her falsehoods and now she doesn’t believe 
you.” 

“Ain’t it smart of her to take that much 
notice and she so little!” said Mrs. Calla- 
han, admiringly. “Well, glory be, she’s got 
one more dost down her.” 

When it was time for Anne to go, Lois 
wailed aloud. “I don’t want sweet Honey 
to go ! I don’t want sweet Honey to 


282 


HONEY-SWEET 


“If you’ll take your medicine, she’ll come 
back to see you,” promised Anne. 

“Don’t want her to come back — want 
her to stay,” sobbed Lois. 

Anne tried to soothe her with promises 
that she would bring Honey-Sweet back 
soon, dressed in a pink hat and a pink- 
flowered muslin. But Lois would not be 
consoled and Anne left her at last in tears. 

Monday morning before school time, 
Peggy and John Edward and Elmore came 
to Miss Dorcas’s door and asked for Anne. 
Would she please lend them Honey-Sweet 
that day ? They’d be ever and ever so 
careful. 

“Lend Honey-Sweet!” exclaimed Anne. 

They hated to ask it but Lois would not 
take her medicine. She had pushed aside and 
spilled dose after dose. “She says she won’t 
take that nasty old bitter old stuff. And her 
cheeks are so red and she breathes so rattly. 
Mommer’s scairt. And the doctor man’ll 
be so mad. Mommer asked her if she’d 


HONEY-SWEET 


283 


take her medicine for Honey-Sweet and 
she said ‘ Yes.’ So mommer say for us to 
run and beg you do please lend us your 
baby-doll to-day.” 

If Lois is so sick, — oh, I suppose I 
must,” said Anne; ^‘but — Peggy, will you 
be careful of her every minute of the time 
and bring her back this afternoon — sure 
and certain ?” 

Peggy promised, and Peggy did. ‘‘Lois 
took her medicine fine,” she said, smiling 
and dimpling. “Mommer give her a dost 
a hour before time so’s I could bring your 
baby-doll and get home before dark. Here 
she is. See ! I ain’t even mussed her 
curls.” 

The next day, Lois was worse again. Her 
mother confessed that they had “worrited 
half the night with her and not got a dost 
down her,” but Hc«iey-Sweet brought her 
to terms. 

When Miss Margery rose to go, Anne 
hesitated a minute, then said, “ Mrs. Calla- 


284 


HONEY-SWEET 


han, if I let Honey-Sweet stay here to-night 
with Lois, can you take good, good care of 
her 

Mrs. Callahan’s face beamed. ‘‘That I 
can, and that I will. I been wantin’ to 
ask you to let her stay and hatin’ to do it, 
seein’ how much you set store by her. I’ll 
take care of her good as if she was my own 
baby.” 

The next afternoon, Anne found Honey- 
Sweet sitting in state on the mantel-piece 
beside the medicine bottle. 

“She comes down with it and she goes 
back with it,” said Mrs. Callahan. “The 
doctor was here this noon and he says she’s 
better and if she takes her medicine reg’lar 
and keeps on the mend till Sadday he thinks 
she’ll be all right. I hope she’ll take it. 
She does every time for that doll.” And the 
worried mother looked anxiously at Anne. 

“I reckon I’ll have to spare Honey-Sweet 
till Saturday,” said Anne, with an effort. 
She missed her pet and the Callahan family 


HONEY-SWEET 


285 

was so big and so careless ! ‘‘Please, Mrs. 
Callahan, be careful with her every minute. 
I love her so very dearly.” 

“Bless your heart, I wouldn’t have harm 
come to her for the world. There she sits 
like a queen on her throne, and ain’t took 
down but by my own hands with the medi- 
cine bottle. I’ve told the kids I’ll skin ’em 
alive if they put finger on her.” 

Saturday morning brought Peggy to see 
Anne, — a sad Peggy with downcast eyes 
and red nose and croaking voice. 

“You’ve a bad cold, Peggy, haven’t 
you ?” said Miss Dorcas. 

Peggy nodded. “Yessum, lady. Ter- 
rible bad. Maybe so I’ll have the pneu- 
mony, like Lois, and maybe so I’ll die.” 

“Oh, I hope not !” exclaimed Anne who 
had hastened out when she heard Peggy. 
She hoped Honey-Sweet was in that bundle 
— though she knew it was too small. 

“Mommer sent me,” said the saddened 
Peggy with the downcast eyes, “to ask 


286 


HONEY-SWEET 


you ladies, please’m, not to come home 
to-day.’’ 

Lois worse was Miss Dorcas’s 
anxious question. 

“ No’m. The doctor says she’s lots better, 
but” — Peggy hesitated — “he says she 
mustn’t have no company and I think he 
says she mustn’t have no company till Mon- 
day. And here’s something for you.” She 
thrust into Anne’s hand a newspaper pack- 
age which being opened revealed a gauze 
fan spangled with silver, soiled and frayed, 
but the pride of Peggy’s heart. “And you 
won’t come till Monday, ma’am ?” she 
urged. 

Miss Dorcas agreed, but Miss Margery, 
when she heard the tale, shook her head. 

“That’s one of Peggy’s tales that Pm 
going to look into,” she said. “I have to 
see a girl in that neighborhood and Pll go 
there this afternoon.” 

“And you’ll let me go with you ? Please,” 
pleaded Anne. “ Pm so homesick for Honey- 


HONEY-SWEET 


287 


Sweet. She’s never been away from me 
before. You can hand her out the window 
and let me visit her, if I can’t see Lois.” 

It was a raw December day and none of 
the Callahan children were playing, as usual, 
in front of the little brown house. The 
sewing-machine was rattling away at such 
furious speed that Miss Margery’s knock 
at the door was unheard. The Charity 
lady hesitated a moment. ‘‘If Lois can 
stand that rattle-ty-banging, she can stand 
sight and sound of us. Let’s go in,” she 
said and she opened the door. 

Anne’s eyes went straight to the mantel- 
piece. Honey-Sweet was not there. Anne 
looked down at the pallet, where Lois lay 
asleep. No Honey-Sweet there. The 
child’s questioning, appealing eyes turned 
to Lois’s mother. 

Mrs. Callahan dropped her face in her 
apron. “I wouldn’t ’a’ had it happen for 
the world !” she sobbed. “Not for all the 
world.” 


288 


HONEY-SWEET 


‘‘What is the matter, Mrs. Callahan 
Inquired Miss Margery. 

“Where’s Honey-Sweet ?” asked Anne. 

“I wouldn’t ’a’ had that doll mint for 
nothin’,” wailed Mrs. Callahan. 

“Honey-Sweet ? ruined stammered 
Anne. 

“What has happened to Anne’s doll, Mrs. 
Callahan ? Will you please explain at 
once Miss Margery was at her sternest. 

“Peggy done it — and she’s cried herself 
’most sick. ’Twas yestiddy. I’d gone to 
take home some sewin’. Peg she’s been 
possessed to show that doll to the Flannagan 
children. Bein’ as I was gone and Lois 
’sleep, she slipped out. And while they 
were all mirationin’ over the doll’s shoes and 
stockin’s, that low-down Flannagan dog 
grabbed the doll and made off with it. 
And they couldn’t get it away from him — 
he tore it to pieces, worritin’ it like ’twas a 
cat. He ought to be skinned alive, I say. 
It’s low-down to keep such a dog.” 


HONEY-SWEET 289 

“If Peggy had obeyed — ” began Miss 
Margery. 

“Yessum,” interrupted Mrs. Callahan. 
“And nobody’s got any business to keep 
such a dog ! We wouldn’t ’a’ had it happen 
for the world, ma’am. I sent you that 
word ’bout Lois,” she went on, addressing 
Anne, “so’s you wouldn’t come. We didn’t 
want you to know ’bout it till Monday. 
Pa he draws his pay to-night and John 
Edward, too. John Edward he’s errant boy 
for a grocer down on M Street. They’re 
going to take all their money and buy you 
the finest doll in Washington, rent or no rent, 
victuals or no victuals.” 

“No, no, no,” protested Anne. 

“Don’t you look so white and pitiful,” 
sobbed Mrs. Callahan. “I wouldn’t ’a’ had 
it happen for the world. You shall have 
the finest doll — ” 

“I don’t want a doll,” Anne spoke with 
difficulty. “Tell them not to. Miss 
Margery. It wouldn’t be Honey-Sweet. 


290 


HONEY-SWEET 


Please, oh, please, let’s go home. Miss 
Margery.” 

Poor little Anne ! Miss Margery had her 
down-stairs to tea that evening, and gave 
her milk toast and pink iced cakes and candy 
in a Santa Claus box that was to have waited 
till Christmas. Then she sang Anne’s fa- 
vorite songs. But the shadow did not lift. 
Anne kissed her friend good-night and crept 
away to bed before nine o’clock. An hour 
later. Miss Dorcas and Miss Margery 
tiptoed into her room. There she lay, her 
face swollen with weeping and her breath 
coming in sobbing gasps. She stirred and 
crumpled a pillow in her arms, and crooned 
in her sleep the old lullaby : — 

“ / Honey, honey ! Sweet, sweet, sweet ! 

Honey, honey ! Honey-Sweet ! ’ 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

All this time — so little is our big world 
— Miss Drayton was hardly a stone’s throw 
from Anne. She was keeping house for her 
brother-in-law who was busy with office 
work in Washington. Pat was at home, 
having entered classes to prepare for George 
Washington University. It was strange 
that Anne and her old friends went to and 
fro, back and forth, so near together and yet 
did not meet. They must have missed 
one another sometimes by only a minute or 
two in a shop or on a street-car or at a street 
corner. But week after week passed with- 
out bringing them together. 

One morning, as Mr. Patterson was 
glancing over his newspaper at breakfast, 
he uttered an exclamation of surprise. 
‘‘This is something you’ll want to hear,” 

291 


292 


HONEY-SWEET 


he said to Miss Drayton — and then he read 
aloud an article with these headlines : — 

“Truth Stranger than Fiction 
“ Felon Gives himself up 
“ Returns to take his Punishment.” 

Mr. Carey Mayo of New York City, who 
had used funds of the Stuyvesant Trust 
Company and had disappeared two years 
before just as he was about to be arrested, 
had surrendered himself to the officers of 
the law. His trial was set for an early day. 
As he had given himself up of his own free 
will, it was thought that his sentence would 
be light. 

Fuller explanation came in a letter to Miss 
Drayton, forwarded by the consul at Nantes. 
Mr. Mayo thanked her for her care and 
goodness to Anne — the words smote her 
heart. He had spent these two years at 
work in South Africa and had laid aside 
every possible penny of his earnings in order 
to keep his niece from being a burden on 


HONEY-SWEET 


293 


strangers. This money he was putting in a 
certain New York banking-house for Miss 
Drayton in trust for Anne. He requested 
her to use it to educate Anne and to buy 
back the child’s old home. It would be 
better, when Anne was old enough to under- 
stand the matter, to tell her the truth about 
him. He asked Miss Drayton to say that 
his regret, his repentance, were as great as 
his sin. He had come to realize that the 
disgrace was in the deed he had done and 
not in its punishment. So, having righted 
affairs for Anne as well as he could, he was 
going to surrender himself to the officers of 
the law. He was tired of being followed 
everywhere by fear of discovery, tired of 
being an outcast from his own land and 
people. The worst hurt was to think that 
Anne must some day know that he was in a 
felon’s cell. 

Only one course lay open to Miss Drayton, 
and how painful that was ! She must in- 
form Anne’s uncle that she had not taken 


294 


HONEY-SWEET 


care of Anne, as he thought, and that the 
child had been sent to an orphan asylum, 
from which she had wandered away, no 
one knew where. If only he need not be 
told ! But he must. 

Miss Drayton and Mr. Patterson resolved 
to go to see Mr. Mayo. But the proposed 
journey was never made. A day or two 
before they were to start, the newspapers 
announced that Mr. Carey Mayo had died in 
the prison to which he had been committed to 
await trial. He had heart disease, and strain 
and excitement had brought on a fatal attack. 

What was to be done about the property 
left to Miss Drayton in trust for Anne ? 
Mr. Patterson advised his sister-in-law to 
let the matter rest for the present. Anne 
might be found. Mrs. Marshall wrote that 
they had a dew which they were following. 
A little girl, answering in general the de- 
scription of Anne, had been seen near 
Westcot with a gypsy band. They would 
continue the search and never give up hope. 


HONEY-SWEET 


295 


Christmas was now at hand and Miss 
Drayton, always ready for deeds of charity, 
resolved to send holiday gifts and dinners to 
several poor families. 

Telephoning to the district agent of the 
Associated Charities, she obtained the names 
of some ‘deserving poor,’ and a crisp, clear 
December morning found her driving from 
one home to another, talking with mothers 
and receiving children’s messages to Santa 
Claus. On the ragged edge of the city, her 
coachman halted before a little brown house 
from the porch of which hung a leafless 
rose-bush. Miss Drayton consulted the 
card in her hand : “John Edward Callahan, 
wife, and seven children.” Two or three 
smiling children, not yet of school age, 
were peeping out of the window and a 
woman left her sewing-machine to open 
the door. 

Miss Drayton explained the purpose of 
her visit. “I understand you have several 
children,” she said. 


296 


HONEY-SWEET 


‘‘Only seven, lady,” said Mrs. Callahan. 
“Peggy and John Edward and Elmore and 
Susie and Lois and Bud and the baby.” 

“Ah! Only seven I And their ages .^” 

“Peggy she’s near on ’leven and the 
baby’s a year old this last gone November 
and the others are scattered ’long between,” 
explained Mrs. Callahan. 

“And what — ” Miss Drayton smiled 
back at Lois and Bud and the baby — 
“must I tell Santa Claus to bring you for 
Christmas, if I happen to see him ?” 

“A doll, lady, please,” answered Mrs. 
Callahan, eagerly, “a gre’t big doll — big 
as that baby — pretty as a picture — open- 
and-shut eyes — real hair and curly. Lady, 
they’d rather have a real elegant doll than 
anything in the world.” 

“Oh, but not the boys,” protested Miss 
Drayton. 

“Yessum — boys and girls and pa and 
me — all of us,” insisted Mrs. Callahan. 
“Lump us so as to make it splendiferous. 


HONEY-SWEET 


297 


Oh, bless you, ’tain’t for us. It’s for the lit- 
tle girl that lent us the loan of her doll to 
get Lois to take her medicine. And the 
doll got mint. Miss Margery — that’s the 
Charity lady — she’s awful cross sometimes 
— said we shouldn’t buy a doll with the 
wages. But she couldn’t fault a present. 
I never see a child love a doll like she did 
that Honey-Sweet.” 

Honey-Sweet ! ” exclaimed Miss Dray- 
ton. 

“Yessum, lady. Wasn’t that a funny 
name for a doll ? It was the purtiest rag 
baby I ever see.” 

‘‘A rag baby, named Honey-Sweet!” 
repeated Miss Drayton. ‘‘Was the little 
girl — what was her name ?” 

“Anne. Anne Hartman. She’s niece to 
Miss Hartman, the head lady of the 
Charity.” 

“Oh!” Could this be her little Anne? 
Or was there another child named Anne 
with another rag doll named Honey-Sweet ? 


298 HONEY-SWEET 

Anne Hartman ? And her Anne had no 
aunt Miss Hartman. It was queer, very 
queer, and puzzling. “What kind of look- 
ing child is Anne Hartman.?” Miss Dray- 
ton asked. 

“She’s a little girl,” answered Mrs. Calla- 
han. “Tall as my Peggy, but slimmer. 
Not pretty. — Well, I dunno. She’s beau- 
tiful, times when she’s happy-looking. She’s 
got a perky little nose and long, twinkly 
eyes. Molasses-candy-colored hair. And 
her mouth — Peggy says it’s like one of our 
red rosebuds when they begin to open.” 

Ah ! Whatever name and kinswoman she 
had now, that was Anne. 

“Where does she live?” inquired Miss 
Drayton, eagerly. 

“At the corner of Fairview Avenue, in the 
big old house that’s turned into flats. Was 
the doll too much to ask, lady ? ” asked 
Mrs. Callahan, as Miss Drayton rose to go. 

“No, oh, no, indeed ! You shall have the 
doll, and things for all the children be- 


HONEY-SWEET 


299 


sides,” said Miss Drayton. ‘‘Good-morn- 
ing, Mrs. Callahan. George, drive down 
Fairview Avenue. Drive fast. I’ll tell you 
where to stop.” 

There was no one named Anne Hartman 
in that building, the janitor informed her. 
A little girl named Anne ? Perhaps she 
meant Anne Lewis, that lived here with her 
cousin. Miss Dorcas Read. The top apart- 
ment. She was not at home now, he knew. 
She came from school about two o’clock. 
No, her cousin was not at home either. 
She was a government clerk and never 
came in before five. 

Miss Drayton would wait. She wished 
to see the little girl the very minute that 
she came in. The janitor invited the lady 
into his dingy office but she shook her head. 
She would wait, if he pleased, in the pleas- 
ant old garden, of which she caught a 
glimpse through the open door. 

Up and down, down and up, the gravelled 
walks she paced, restless and impatient. 


300 


HONEY-SWEET 


Suppose there was some mistake. Suppose 
this Anne Lewis was not her little Anne. 
Surely it was time for the child to come 
from school. Only one o’clock } Her 
watch must be wrong. No, it had not 
stopped. And the old dial, catching the 
sunlight through leafless trees, told the 
same hour. Drawing her furs about her. 
Miss Drayton sat down on a stone bench. 

From below, came the street noises, — 
jangle of cars, rumble of wagons, clat- 
ter and clamor of passers-by. In the 
old garden, withered leaves drifted down 
on the still air or rustled underfoot, bare 
branches wavered against the clear blue 
sky, and purple shadows flickered on the 
leaf-strewn walk. How quiet it was ! how 
peaceful ! By degrees, the quiet and the 
peace crept into Miss Drayton’s heart. 
She was content to wait. In this good 
world of ours, everything is sure to come out 
right in the end. 

And then, in the mellow sunlight, down 


HONEY-SWEET 


301 


the box-bordered walk, past the sun-dial, 
toward the stone bench, came a little figure. 

‘‘Mr. Brown said that a lady — oh ! oh ! 
it’s you !” 

“Dear little Anne! dear little Anne!” 
She was clasped in the arms — dear, cuddly 
arms ! — of her friend. 

What laughter, tears, and chatter there 
were ! 

“But we must go home,” said Miss Dray- 
ton, presently. “Pat will be there now. 
We’ll come back to see your cousin.” 

As they entered the hall, they heard from 
above the click-click of dumb-bells. Miss 
Drayton put her finger on Anne’s lips, and 
they tiptoed into the cozy sitting-room. 

Then Miss Drayton called in an offhand 
way: “Pat, oh, Pat! There’s a child in 
the sitting-room that wants to see you.” 

“Who is he ?” 

His aunt did not seem to hear. Anyway, 
she did not answer. Pat, whistling rag- 
time, sauntered into the sitting-room. 


302 


HONEY-SWEET 


Anne flew into his arms. 

“Why, what — ’’ and then he realized 
that it was Anne. Anne ! He gave her a 
bear’s hug and danced about the room, 
holding her high in his arms. Miss Dray- 
ton laughed till tears came. 

“Where did you come from ? How did 
you get here ? Did Aunt Sarah find you ? 
Does dad know you’ve come ? When — ” 
“There, there, Pat ! Not more than 
three questions at a time, please,” inter- 
rupted his aunt. “And you’re not leaving 
Anne breath to answer one.” 

How much there was to ask and to tell ! 
Anne gave an account of her wanderings. 
Pat told how they had searched for her, how 
grieved the asylum people and the Marshall 
family were at not being able to find her. 
“Why, there’s that little chap Dunlop. 
He asked if you had any jam for your sup- 
per — and I told him ‘ No ’ — and he wouldn’t 
touch it — said he didn’t want it, if Anne 
didn’t have any.” 


HONEY-SWEET 


303 


^‘Dunlop ! Dunlop did that !” 

‘‘He and his small brother weep a little 
weep every time your name is mentioned.” 

“ Oh, Pat ! Why, I never thought they’d 
care so much,” said Anne. “I miss them. 
But I was afraid to write to them. I 
didn’t want to go back there. Can they 
make me go back, if I write and tell them 
where I am 

“No, indeed,” answered Miss Drayton. 

“Bet your life they can’t,” said Pat. 
“You’re coming to live with us. Isn’t she. 
Aunt Sarah 

“I’m so glad ! I’m so glad !” Anne was 
radiant. “I love Cousin Dorcas,” she has- 
tened to explain. “She’s just as kind to 
me as can be and she’s awful good. But — 
she’s one of the good people you don’t 
want to live with. She has nerves, you 
know, and so many troubles. And her 
arms aren’t cuddly. Not like yours. Miss 
Drayton. I think she likes me — a cousin- 
like, you know, — but I’m sure she’ll be 


304 


HONEY-SWEET 


glad not to have me live with her. She 
hasn’t much money and I cost so much. 
Shoes are the worst. I wear them out so 
fast.” 

‘‘You can wear out all you want to now, 
— shoes and everything. And give Cousin 
Dorcas some, too,” said Pat. 

While they were chattering away, a meas- 
ured step was heard in the hall. “There’s 
father,” said Pat. “Oh, dad, we’ve found 
Anne,” he called. “Here she is.” 

Mr. Patterson hurried into the room. 
Anne rose timidly to shake hands, and was 
caught in a hearty embrace. “Welcome, 
little one ! Welcome home,” said Mr. Pat- 
terson. 

“Hooray ! hooray for the star-spangled 
banner!” Pat shouted so loud that the 
cook and both the maid-servants came run- 
ning to see what was the matter. Where- 
upon Mr. Patterson told them that they 
were to have the Christmas turkey that 
day and the best dinner they could prepare 


HONEY-SWEET 


305 


on such short notice, to celebrate Miss 
Anne’s coming home. 

“We want your cousin to join us,” said 
Miss Drayton. “Has she a telephone ?” 

“We use Miss Margery’s,” replied Anne. 
“Please, do you mind — would you ask 
Miss Margery, too ? ” 

“Of course, dear. We shall be happy to 
have her. Before dinner let’s write some 
little letters — really we ought — to let 
your other friends know that we’ve found 
you.” 

“Bully Mrs. Collins,” said Pat. 

“And poor Miss Farlow,” added Miss 
Drayton. 

“Don’t forget our friend ’Lop,” suggested 
Mr. Patterson. 

“And — it’s far away and long ago — ” said 
Anne, “but I want Mademoiselle Duroc to 
know and to tell the girls, if any of the old 
ones are there, that you know about the 
jewels and it’s all right.” 


CHAPTER XXIX 


“Time you youngsters were doing your 
Christmas shopping,” said Mr. Patterson 
the next morning, laying a generous bank- 
note by Pat’s plate and two crisp notes by 
Anne’s. “ She has to have a double portion,” 
he explained, “because she’s a girl — and 
little — and has to make up lost time.” 

“Yep, dad,” said Pat, nodding agree- 
ment to each of these reasons and adding 
another, “and she has such gangs of people 
to send things to. You’ll have to go to the 
ten-cent shop, Nancy Anne, or borrow from 
my bank. Wherever you’ve been, you’ve 
picked up friends, like — like a little woolly 
lambie gathers burs.” 

They all laughed at Pat’s speech ; they 
were in the joyous frame of mind when 
laughter comes easily. 

“I want to join you in Christmas remem- 

306 


HONEY-SWEET 


307 


brances to the people who have been so 
good to you/’ said Miss Drayton. 

‘‘I’ll send Jake Collins a ball and Peter a 
pocket-knife,” said Pat, “or would Jake 
rather have a knife, too ?” 

“Mrs. Collins shall have a silk dress,” 
said Miss Drayton. 

“Oo-ee! That will be glorious,” ex- 
claimed Anne. “Let it be the rustly kind. 
And red. She loves red.” 

“Mr. Collins shall have an umbrella 
with a gorgeous silver handle,” said Mr. 
Patterson. “That will be silk. Must it 
be rustly and red, too ?” 

Anne laughed. “Lizzie would just love 
a pink parasol,” she said. “And I know 
what Aunt Charity would like — a pair of 
big, gold-rimmed spectacles. I heard her 
say she’d rather have them than anything 
else in the world.” 

“Is her eyesight very bad ?” asked Miss 
Drayton. 

“Why — I don’t know. I reckon not.” 


3o8 honey-sweet 

Anne looked puzzled. ‘‘Oh ! she just wants 
them for dress-up. . She has a pair of steel- 
rimmed ones now. She pulls them down 
on her nose so she can see over them, you 
know.” 

Mr. Patterson threw back his head and 
laughed till he was red in the face. “She 
shall have them,” he said, as soon as he 
could speak. “She shall have the very 
biggest pair of gold-rimmed spectacles with 
plain glass lens that Claflin’s shop affords. 
May I live to see her wear them ! And 
we’ll send her a good warm shawl besides 
and Uncle Richard shall have — shall have 
a blue overcoat with brass buttons.” 

“Goody, goody, goody!” cried Anne, 
clapping her hands. “Oh, please, I just 
must kiss you.” 

“Good pay — and in advance,” said 
Mr. Patterson. “But I charge two kisses,” 
which he proceeded to take. 

“What would Miss Farlow like?” in- 
quired Miss Drayton. 


HONEY-SWEET 


309 


“I know,” said Anne. ‘‘Gloves. You 
just ought to see her shoe-polishing her 
rusty finger-tips. And she looks like she 
likes herself so much better when she has 
a new pair.” 

“ She shall have a boxful,” Miss Drayton 
declared; “and the girls — would they be 
allowed to wear red hair-ribbons and em- 
broidered collars .^” 

“Oh, please. Miss Drayton — Aunt Sarah, 
I mean,” said Anne, “don’t let’s send them 
a single useful thing. Just a box full of 
games and story-books and a box of candy 
for each one, with a ribbon round it and lit- 
tle silver tongs inside.” 

“Good ! That’s the thing,” agreed Mr. 
Patterson, consulting his watch and jump- 
ing up from the table. “Here! can’t you 
all join me in the Boston House to-day at 
twelve-thirty to select a gift for ’Lop ? I 
want the noisiest mechanical toy there is.” 

“Poor Mrs. Marshall!” laughed Miss 
Drayton. 


310 


HONEY-SWEET 


We may not follow the merry party 
on that shopping trip. But let me assure 
you that boxes were sent to all the Virginia 
friends and that there were generous gifts 
for Cousin Dorcas and Miss Margery. They 
were certainly well selected, for each person 
said that his or her gift was just exactly 
what was most desired. 

The maid who opened the door that 
afternoon to the weary, happy, home-coming 
party of Christmas shoppers said, ‘‘Please, 
Miss Drayton, there’s a lady and two little 
boys in the back parlor to see Miss Anne. 
They’ve been waiting an hour. The biggest 
boy’s dreadful impatient and he stamped 
and screamed awful because I couldn’t go 
and bring her home.” 

“Why, it must be ’Lop,” exclaimed Anne. 

Dunlop it was, with his mother and 
Arthur. 

“He would come,” said Mrs. Marshall. 
“He clamored to start as soon as we read 
the letter this morning. I feared he’d 


HONEY-SWEET 


3ii 

worry himself sick. He’s so nervous and 
high-strung,” she explained to Miss Dray- 
ton. 

‘‘Papa promised me a little automobile 
if I’d stay at home,” said Dunlop, hanging 
to Anne’s hand. “I told him I’d rather see 
Anne.” 

“Oh !” Anne kissed him. 

“’Spect I’ll get the automobile anyway,” 
reflected Dunlop. “And, Anne, I know now 
’bout Santa Claus,” with a cautious glance 
at Arthur who was cuddled in her arms. 

Mrs. Marshall produced a packet which 
Miss Farlow had asked her to deliver, — 
Anne’s gold beads and coral pins, and the 
rings, locket, and purse given by her uncle. 
Miss Drayton looked thoughtfully at the 
jewels. 

“These were your mother’s, you know, 
Anne,” she said. “You must keep and 
prize them always, dear. And I have a 
story to tell you some day, little Anne — 
some far-off, ’most-grown-up day.” 


312 


HONEY-SWEET 


The next morning was Christmas. When 
Anne awakened, she found around her wrist 
a red ribbon on which was a card bearing 
these words : 

“ Follow, follow where I wind, 

Christmas tokens you will find.” 

After many wanderings about the chairs 
and tables, the ribbon led to the top shelf of 
the closet, where there was a box of games, 
‘‘With love from brother Pat.” Then it 
conducted Anne back to the bed and when 
she stooped to unwind it from the bed-post 
she touched a soft, furry thing and gave a 
squeal, thinking it was a live creature ; 
she gave another squeal of delight when 
she found that it was a muff and a little fur 
coat from Mr. Patterson. From the bed, 
the ribbon guided Anne to the window- 
seat, and there “from Aunt Sarah” was a 
book-shelf with Little Lord Fauntleroy first 
in a row of beautiful books. Anne clapped 
her hands and danced and ran to hug and 
kiss Miss Drayton who was standing in the 


HONEY-SWEET 


313 

doorway, enjoying the gift-hunt. The red 
ribbon led to other nooks and corners 
where there were various other presents, 
including a silver toilet-set from Mrs. Mar- 
shall, a box of candy from Dunlop, a cup 
and saucer from Arthur, and a pair of pink 
and red slippers knit by Mollie, the cook at 
the Home. 

Down-stairs, Anne found a box which had 
been left at the door by Peggy and John 
Edward and Elmore and Susie. It con- 
tained a gorgeous big doll and a slip of paper 
on which was written : ^‘For Miss Anne, 
with all our loves from her respectful friends, 
Mr. and Mrs. Callahan, Peggy, John Ed- 
ward, Elmore, Susie, Lois, Bud, and Baby.” 

Anne was very grateful but very sure that 
she did not want a doll and that she would 
like Susie and Lois to have it. So Christmas 
afternoon, she and Pat, accompanied by Miss 
Drayton and Mr. Patterson, went to re- 
present the doll. The sewing-machine was 
silent for once, and the Callahan family 


314 


HONEY-SWEET 


was seated around a table spread with 
turkey, cranberry sauce, ham, pickles, 
mashed potatoes, baked sweet potatoes, 
cabbage, cake, mince pie, ice-cream, apples, 
and oranges. 

‘‘They say some folks put things on the 
table one by one, but we likes to have them 
where we can see them all one time,’’ 
remarked Mrs. Callahan who was feeding 
the baby with turkey and pickle. 

“We’se eated two dinners a’ready,” said 
Lois. 

“Mommer told all the ladies that asked 
us as how we wanted a Christmas dinner 
and we got three,” explained Peggy. 

“And et ’em, too,” Mrs. Callahan de- 
clared. “The Charity lady told me just 
to ask for one — stingy old thing ! I 
knowed my children’s stomachs and I got 
’em filled up good. Run around the table 
again now, you John Edward and Elmore, 
so’s to jostle your victuals down and make 
room for the cake and ice-cream.” 







“ Oh ! This is such a nice world ! ” 


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HONEY-SWEET 


31S 


Miss Drayton presently heard a great 
smacking of lips from the corner where the 
twins sat. They had put their ice-cream 
together on one plate and were feeding each 
other. Elmore put a "generous spoonful in 
John Edward’s mouth. 

Smack your lips — loud — so I can taste 
it,” he said. ‘‘Now it’s your turn to give 
me a spoonful.” 

“M-m-m ! ain’t it good exclaimed John 
Edward. “ I smacked my lips loudest — 
didn’t I, Peggy ^ ” 

But Peggy, talking aside with Anne, did 
not heed him. 

“ It was very, very, very good of you all to 
send me the doll,” said Anne; “but truly. 
I’d rather you’d keep it for Susie and Lois. 
I’m getting too big to play dolls, anyway.” 

Skipping homeward with her hands snug- 
gled in her new muff, Anne confided to Miss 
Drayton, “I don’t hate it near so bad 
about Honey-Sweet now. I love her just 
the same most dearly. And, just think ! it 


3i6 


HONEY-SWEET 


was her being lost that made you find me. 
Peggy says they ^had a be-yu-tiful funeral 
for her. Mrs. Callahan covered the coffin 
with white paper and they shovelled in 
the dirt and put on the grave some real 
roses that John Edward found in an ash 
barrel. Wasn’t that nice ? Oh ! this is 
such a nice world!” 


'■JpHE following pages contain advertisements of a 
few of the Macmillan books for juvenile readers 


I 




dr E. V. LUCAS 

The Slowcoach 

Decorated cloth, illustrated, $1.50 net 

Children enjoy the quaint Lamblike humor of Mr. Lucas’s books 
as heartily as their elders, and he seems as uniquely intended for tiie 
writing of stories for children as for compiling anthologies which with- 
out an original word beyond headlines manage to suggest a personality 
of unusual charm. 

By JACOB RIIS 

Hero Tales of the Far North 

Decorated cloth, illustrated, $1.50 net 

Many a character whom it is well to know appears in these pages. 
King Christian the Fourth, Gustavus Adolphus, King Waldemar, and 
other names dear to the hearts of Danes and Scandinavians figure in 
these pages. 

By CHRISTINA GOWANS WHYTE 

The Story Book Girls 

Cloth, illustrated in colors, $1.50 

“ Are you looking for a good story to give a girl who is just beginning 
to lengthen her skirts, and do up her. hair instead of letting it hang 
in braids — a girl, that is to say, on the joyous verge of womanhood ? 
Here is the book that fills the requirements. ... It is sweet, quiet, 
wholesome, full of fun, yet with a sedate earnestness of undertone that 
is at once a part of its charm and an essential element of its merit.” — 
Record-Herald, Chicago. 

Nina’s Career 

Cloth, illustrated in colors, $1.50 

“ The very.best story for girls, afid incidentally for boys, that has been 
written for many a long day. It is so gay, so chatty, and so full of inci- 
dent that is the best of fun. Such a lot of boys and girls and children, 
with older men and women and wise and clever fathers and mothers, 
all quite different from one another, come together on its pages, that it 
never lacks variety, but under all runs a steady purpose fhat makes for 
the developing of manly men and womanly women ." — Boston Uni- 
versal Leader. 


THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York 


EVERY BOY’S AND GIRL’S SERIES 

A series of books which have been proved to have 
each its points of special appeal to young readers. 

Attractively hound in clothe each^ 75 cenis net 

The Adventures of Dorothy 

By JOCELYN LEWIS. Illustrated by Seymour M. Stone. 

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland 

By lewis CARROLL. With forty-two illustrations by John Tenniel. 

Aunt Jimmy’s Will 

By MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT. Illustrated by Florence Scovel 
Shinn. 

The Bears of Blue River 

By CHARLES MAJOR. With illustrations by A. B. Frost and others. 

The Bennett Twins 

BY MARGARET HURD. 

Bible Stories Retold for Young People. 2 vols. 

The New Testament Story 

By W. F. ADENEY. With illustrations and maps. 

The Old Testament Story 

By W. H. BENNETT, MA. With illustrations and maps. 

Boy Life on the Prairie 

By HAMLIN GARLAND. Illustrated by E. W. Deming. 

Children of the Tenements 

By JACOB A. RIIS. With illustrations by C. M. Relyea and others. 

The Children Who Ran Away 

By EVELYN SHARP. With illustrations by Paul Meylan. 

Dogtown 

By MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT. Profusely illustrated from photo- 
graphs by the author. 

Eight Secrets 

by ERNEST INGERSOLL. Illustrated. 

The General Manager’s Story 

By HERBERT ELLIOTT HAMBLEN. Illustrated. 

A Little Captive Lad 

By BEULAH MARIE DIX. With illustrations by Will Gref6. 


The Merry Anne 

By SAMUEL M ERWIN. With illustrations and decorations by 
Thomas Fogarthy. 

Merrylips 

By BEULAH MARIE DIX. With illustrations by Frank T. Merrill. 

Pickett’s Gap 

By homer GREENE. With illustrations. 

Tales of the Fish Patrol 

By jack LONDON. With illustrations. 

Through the Looking Glass 

By lewis CARROLL. With fifty illustrations by John Tenniel. 

Tom Benton’s Luck 

By HERBERT ELLIOTT HAMBLEN. With illustrations. 

Tom Brown’s School Days 

By An Old Boy — THOMAS HUGHES. With illustrations by Arthur 
Hughes and Sydney Hall. 

Trapper ‘‘Jim” 

By EDWIN SANDYS. With many illustrations by the author. 

The Wonder Children 

By CHARLES J. BELLAMY. Illustrated. 

The Youngest Girl in the School 

By EVELYN SHARP. With illustrations by C. E. Brock. 

The Railway Children 

By E. NESBIT. With illustrations by Charles E. Brock. 

The Phoenix and the Carpet 

By E. NESBIT. Illustrated by H. R. Millar. 

“Carrots” Just a Little Boy 

By Mrs. MOLESWORTH. Illustrated by Walter Crane. 

Us : An Old-Fashioned Story 

BY Mrs. MOLESWORTH. Illustrated. 

Cuckoo Clock 

BY Mrs. MOLESWORTH. Illustrated. 

The Dwarf’s Spectacles and 
Other Fairy Tales 

By max NORDAU. Illustrated by H. A. Hart, F. P. Salford, and 
R. McGowan. 


NEW BOOKS FOR BOYS 


By JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER 

The Horsemen of the Plains 

Colored illustrations by Charles L. Bull. $i.so 

A story of scouts and trappers, full of the genuine atmosphere of the 
plains, and of the ingenuity and resourcefulness of the hunter; while it 
is full of interest and excitement it is also told in a thoroughly sincere 
manner. 

By ELIZA H. FIGYELMESSY 

Two Boys in the Tropics 

Decorated cloth, fully illustrated. 

Equatorial South America is a new country which should prove fasci- 
nating to the most blas6 and modern child. The author describes it as 
seen by two boys for whom its strange customs, novel games, and curi- 
ous bird and beast pets made it seem the children’s paradise. 

By CHARLES MAJOR 

Author of “ Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall," " The Bears of Blue 
River,” etc. 

Uncle Tom Andy Bill 

Illustrated. Cloth, i2mo, $1.50 

Thousands of children will remember “ The Bears of Blue River ” as one 
of the best stories they ever read. No one but Mr. Major could match 
it, as he has, in this story of bears and Indian treasure. From begin- 
ning to end it is adventure — good, lively, healthy adventure, such as 
every normal boy craves. 

By JAMES MORGAN 

Author of “ Theodore Roosevelt: The Boy and the Man." „ 

Abraham Lincoln : The Boy and the Man 

Illustrated. Cloth, crown 8vo, $1.50 

Mr. Morgan’s biography of Roosevelt proved that he knows how to tell 
the story of a man’s life so as to make it interesting as well as inspiring. 
In this life of Lincoln he has kept in mind the needs of the young 
reader, and has made a simple, straightforward, but dramatic, story of 
the great War President. The abundant illustrations will include some 
little-known portraits and views of scenes associated with Lincoln’s life. 


THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York 


OUTDOOR STORIES FOR BOYS AND GIRLS 


By J. W. FORTESCUE 

The Story of a Red Deer 

Cloth, i6mo, $.80; Leather, $1.25 
“ A beautiful story of animal life.” — Critic. 

By jack LONDON 

Tales of the Fish Patrol 

Cloth, izmo, $1.50 

“ Full of action.” — Plain Dealer. 

By CHARLES MAJOR 

The Bears of Blue River 

*' A thrilling and absorbing tale of boy life in Indiana.” — Indianapolis 
Star. 

Uncle Tom Andy Bill cm.,. mo. $1-50 

By EDWYN SANDYS 

Sportsman Joe illustrated, izmo, $1.50 

Trapper Jim ,.mo,$r.so 

” A book which will delight every normal boy.” — New York Tribune. 

By ERNEST INGERSOLL 

An Island in the Air 

Illustrated by William McCullough Cloth, izmo, $1.50 

By STEWART EDWARD WHITE 

The Magic Forest 

Colored Illustrations by Joseph Gleeson Cloth, izmo, $1.20 net 

By MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT 

DogtOWn Illustrated with Photographs. Cloth, izmo, $1.50 net 
A story of people as well as of dogs, and several of the people are old 
friends, having been met in Mrs. Wright’s other books. 

Gray Lady and the Birds 


THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York 


Peeps at Many Lands 

Travel books which aim to describe foreign places 
with special reference to the interests of young 
readers. They deal with children’s life in home 
and school, their games and occupations, etc. 

Each is illustrated with 12 colored plates 
and sells at 55 cents net; by mail, 65 cents 

The volumes included in the series : — 


BELGIUM 

INDIA 

BURMA 

IRELAND 

CANADA 

ITALY 

CEYLON 

JAMAICA 

CHINA 

JAPAN 

CORSICA 

KOREA 

DENMARK 

MOROCCO 

EDINBURG 

NEW ZEALAND 

EGYPT 

NORWAY 

ENGLAND 

PARIS 

FINLAND 

PORTUGAL 

FRANCE 

RUSSIA 

GERMANY 

SCOTLAND 

GREECE 

SIAM 

HOLLAND 

SOUTH AFRICA 

HOLY LAND 

SOUTH SEAS 

ICELAND 

SPAIN 


SWITZERLAND 


PUBLISHED BY 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

64-66 Fifth Avenue, New York 


Mrs. SARA ANDREW SHAFER’S 

The Day Before Yesterday 

Cloth i2mo $1.50 

“It is not so much a child’s book — though the right sort of child 
would revel in it — as a book about children, — a family chronicle, 
humorous and yet reverent, written in sweetest English and with flaw- 
less taste . . . infinitely amusing, infinitely affecting.” — Atlantic Monthly. 

” It’s a book to be bought ; not taken from the library or borrowed 
from a complaisant neighbor. You will want to dip in it again and 
again after the first persistent reading. It refreshes as much as it en- 
tertains. It is restful. It is reconstructive. It brings back a time — 
it seems longer, though, than yesterday and the day before — when life 
was simple and sane and sweet; when men seemed to get hold of better 
things of existence than they do now. . . . These old-lime-virtues and 
graces make the book fragrant as with lavender.” — Cleveland Leader. 

“This book may well go on the shelf that holds Rebecca of Sunny- 
brook Farm, Emmy Lou, and The Would-be- Goods. In other words, 
it is a true, charming, and entertaining story of child life. It is 
written with delicacy and feeling as well as with humor. The misad- 
ventures, fun, and achievements of Rachel and her brothers, sisters, and 
playmates are capitally set forth, while the story is pervaded by an 
atmosphere of cheerfulness and refinement. The story is natural and 
simple, and has freshness of spirit in an unusual degree.” — Outlook. 

“ Of The Day Before Yesterday much may be written in way of 
praise, but a summing up of its good points forces the conclusion that 
its chief claim for popularity rests upon its absolute truthfulness, unex- 
aggerated beauty of description and candid simplicity.” — Evansville 
Courier. 

“ It is good and heartening to go back in this way to regather some of 
our childhood flowers — even in imagination ; to pick up the threads of 
old-while friendships. It is helpful and inspiring to catch this glimpse 
of the old home and the old folks ; the old and quaint ways of the quiet 
life ; the old ways of love, the solid comfort and content of it all.” — Syra- 
cuse Herald. 

“ Sweet as June roses is this dainty story of the days of childhood. 
Appealing to those whose childhood lies long years behind their present 
as well as to the interest of those whose youth is still a long way in the 
future. The Day Before Yesterday is to be ranked with that classic 
by Kenneth Graham, Dream Days.” — Baltimore Sun. 


THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York 


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